


and you fight until the finish line carries you home

by strangetowns



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, Implied Anxiety & Depression, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magical Realism Elements (if you squint. Or blink as it may be), Mental Health Issues, Post-Break Up, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-03 17:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15823428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/pseuds/strangetowns
Summary: “Did you love him?”Isak looked down at the glass in his hand, the wine he’d barely had any of. He shrugged, carefully noncommittal, and glanced at Even out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow at his expression. “What, are you jealous?”“Nothing like that,” Even said. He leaned his weight on his elbows, tilting his body over the edge of the balcony as he fixed his eyes on a passing car below. “Hearing it makes me glad, actually.”“Why?”A beat of silence.Then -“You deserve all the chances at happiness you can get, Isak.”-In which Even returns to Oslo five years after he first left it, and Isak seeks answers to questions he thought he’d long forgotten. Or: a post-break up AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I’m never going to write a proper break-up fic for a ship I care about! It’s too angsty!  
> Me two months later: -sweats nervously-
> 
> Gosh, what to even say about this fic. Writing this story has been an intensely personal experience, and one that was entirely out of my comfort zone all at once. It honestly feels a little surreal to finally be posting it?? But here we are, I guess. It’s, uh, quite angsty, as you might have guessed. So mind the tags, please! But I can promise an unambiguously happy ending, at least. Seriously. I’ve got you guys.
> 
> You will note from the tags that this fic includes some very subtle magical realism elements. These are not meant to stand out or be the main focus of the fic. Regardless, if you have any questions about this part of the story, I will be happy to answer them. Also note that the depiction of mental illness and therapy in this fic, specifically in relation to Isak, is entirely based on personal experience and is not meant to be representative of everyone’s experiences.
> 
> So many thanks go to [Arin](http://arindwell.tumblr.com/) and [Lyds](http://boxesfullofthoughts.tumblr.com/) for being not just beta readers but also confidantes, planners, and friends through this entire writing process. I have very serious doubts that I would have finished this without your support. Thank you also to [Alina](http://kapplebougher.tumblr.com/) for kindly reading over this fic and providing me with invaluable input and [Camilla](http://crazyheartfics.tumblr.com/) for the Norway-picking - any inaccuracies are, of course, entirely my own. 
> 
> Title is from “Harvest Love” by Tash Sultana. You can check out the playlist I made for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/strange-towns/playlist/1BEyYScnmrGZJCPvVsBLc2?si=vFcOzN4KSN26OqS1zN7Ftw) if you want. And that’s all I’ve got, for now. See you all on the other side!

_I._

It was late afternoon, but you could hardly tell it from the ominous darkness of the sky, clouds so low and heavy it almost felt like it should be raining. Isak could practically feel it every time he closed his eyes, cold, precise pinpricks against his skin that faded away as quickly as they came. Splattering across the back of his hands, against the nape of his neck, the tip of his nose almost gone cold. When he was a kid and didn’t know any better he used to try to rub the feeling away, palms scraped roughly against the fabric of his jeans, fingertips brushing across his cheeks to flick away droplets of water that didn’t exist. Nowadays, he knew a little better.

(Nowadays, he just tried not to blink too much.)

It really was a good thing it wasn’t raining, though. Isak hadn’t brought an umbrella, hadn’t thought to, and it was a long walk from his apartment to the train station. He could have taken the car, but today felt like a day for taking his time with things. He’d gotten the next few days off work a week in advance, so it only seemed appropriate to try. And he liked the way the city felt before dusk fell. It was the kind of thing he should spend more time appreciating, maybe even the kind of thing he should regret not doing more of.

Then again, “taking your time” sounded almost easy in those terms, but it’d always been one of those things he had to consciously think about. Something he could hardly do on his own, in any case. He’d asked his therapist how he could help himself with it a few sessions ago, and she’d tilted her head and said they could make a plan if this was a goal he wanted to work toward one day. Why don’t you look up from your feet every once in a while, she’d said, maybe say hi to a stranger or two a day. Be a little more present in the world.

Isak had almost laughed in her face at that. Then he’d actually thought about it, because after all they’d been through together - after all she’d helped him with - she deserved his consideration, maybe even more than that in some cases. And the more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed. That last part really was kind of laughable, to be sure, but looking up, well, that was easy enough, wasn’t it? That was something anyone could do.

So he took her seriously, or at least made an effort to. Today his headphones stayed in his pocket, and the drone of the city, cars rushing by and horns beeping and flashes of conversation from people who passed him by, filled his ribcage as his lungs breathed in Oslo itself.

Yeah, maybe she was right. Maybe he really didn’t do this as much as he should.

(Maybe that was true about a lot of things.)

He got to the station about ten minutes before he really had to be there, and skimmed his eyes over the Arrivals board. The times took a moment to come into focus, the numbers flickering rapidly in a manner that was briefly dizzying; and then he blinked and they stopped spinning, and he found the train number he’d memorized over that morning’s breakfast easily. He mouthed the digits silently to himself, a habitual rite of confirmation. 17:40 and on time, a small relief. He liked being early to things that were on time.

There was enough time to grab a coffee, so he did, small, iced, with extra cream; and when he returned to the correct location the train he’d been waiting for had pulled into the dock.

Isak had sort of imagined it might take a while to pick Even out in the small flood of people rushing out of the train, a few moments of intent searching among unfamiliar faces, but in reality his tall figure was almost instantly recognizable amongst the crowd. From a distance there wasn’t a lot Isak could see about him, other than the fact that he was in a smart black coat and had a bag slung over his shoulder, but frankly Isak had never needed much else. It was very nearly disappointing, but also not, in some ways. Isak shouldered his way past the other people to reach him.

Conversely, Even didn’t appear to see him coming, which at least gave Isak a little time to examine him more closely as he approached. The coat was definitely new, or at least new to Isak, and so was the bag. Even’s face - far from new to Isak, still one he could probably pick out in his sleep even if he wore his hair differently now and had deeper shadows under his eyes, if that was possible - was turned downward, toward his phone, it looked like. Even should meet Isak’s therapist, he thought dryly, maybe then he’d know not to keep his head down so much.

Of course it was at that precise moment that Even looked up, and stopped in his tracks; and the smile that bloomed across his face was surprised but warm, and maybe it’d been a long time but Isak still knew it was entirely genuine.

(Isak’s heart kicked itself in the face, just a tiny bit.

It had been a long time.)

“Isak,” Even said. “You made it.”

Two seconds into this meeting, and Isak was already rolling his eyes. Not even a hello to begin with. How utterly unsurprising.

“Of course I did,” he said. “You asked me to, didn’t you?”

Even’s smile turned into a grin, and he tucked his thumbs into his pockets as he looked down at his feet. It was almost a boyish gesture, which of course was so incredibly typical, Even Bech Næsheim acting like a boy in his grown up body. It was so him and Isak knew it so well it almost made him want to ache.

(Almost.)

“I’m just glad to see you,” Even said.

And of course Isak knew that Even wouldn’t have any reservations with exercising his candor from the first moment they met again, but knowing a fact of the universe didn’t necessarily mean he was prepared for it to happen.

Isak cleared his throat and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Ready to go, then?”

Even nodded, and they were off. Isak measured the distance in his head as they walked. They shouldn’t be too close, not so close Isak would be able to smell the travel on him. But then, what counted as “close enough”?

(Or “far enough”, for that matter.)

“So,” Isak said, searching for words to fill the silence. Safe words. Words that didn’t invite intimacy or awkwardness, equally unwelcome guests; a balance that had never come naturally to him, but one he had to try to find regardless. “How was the train ride here?”

Even shrugged. “Trains are trains,” he said. And left it at that.

“Oh.” Isak frowned. It baffled him that there were people out there who made whole careers out of small talk. “Um… How was Bergen?”

“Wasn’t really there for long enough to know. My parents say hi.”

Isak nodded. He didn’t know what else to say, so he held out the coffee he’d ordered. “Do you want coffee?”

Even raised his eyebrows. “It’s iced?” he said, surprise coloring the question.

Isak snorted, not quite able to help himself. “Of course. What do you even take me for?”

Even laughed quietly, and said nothing more. He took the cup from Isak’s hand. Isak smiled at him, quick and perhaps a little uncertain, and turned his gaze away.

And now, there was silence.

And now he could feel Even staring at him.

The world blurred for a tilted moment, almost imperceptibly; took on a kind of fuzziness around the edges that made Isak want to squint just so things would be clear again.

He felt warm.

(He felt the phantom of an arm around his shoulders.)

In the end, he didn’t squint. Just blinked.

And he kept looking forward, because that was what he’d always done.

“There’s extra cream,” he said. “Sorry if you don’t take your coffee that way anymore.”

He could practically see the answering smile as if it was actually in front of him. The soft surprise in it, and the well-worn fondness he didn’t know if Even had a right to anymore, or more precisely didn’t know if he wanted him to.

(Perhaps he didn’t actually need to see it.)

“Thank you, Isak,” Even said, quietly.

“No need to thank me,” Isak said, and meant it.

They emerged onto the street. The clouds still hung low in the sky. Isak tilted his head back toward them as they walked, and his eyes were wide open.

It would not rain. Not today, at least. He was sure of it.

-

“Wow,” Even breathed when Isak opened the door to his flat. “This is so much nicer than my place in the States.”

“I believe it,” Isak said. “I’ve heard the stories about living in New York City.”

He grazed his eyes over the interior of the apartment, trying to imagine what Even saw. A wide open space between where they were standing and the tall glass doors that led to a small balcony. White surfaces and pale hardwood floors, framed movie posters that were clearly a poorly veiled attempt at being classy, furniture that didn’t quite match but at least looked lived in. Probably didn’t make for a bad first impression, but one could never be too sure.

“Check it out,” he said. “I’ve got some houseplants I miraculously haven’t killed yet, and barstools in the kitchen, and, like, an actual coat closet. If adulthood was a game I’d definitely be winning it.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Even said. He crossed half the length of the flat in long strides, pausing in front of a black leather couch and bending over the white and grey cat sitting on it. He put his hand out without hesitation, scratching at the cat’s chin gently and earning himself a quiet mew in response. “Well, hi there. Glad to finally meet you, Toto. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Isak could think of few things that were more predictable than Even ignoring literally everything else around him for the sake of a cute animal. “Huh, I guess you’re right,” Isak said, coming up behind Even, watching them. “I kind of forgot you hadn’t met, I got her so long ago? Around - well, around when you first left Oslo, I guess.”

“And you were thinking about it even before then,” Even pointed out. “What was it you said, exactly? Oh, yeah. _Who needs men when you can get a cat instead?_ ”

“I still stand by that statement,” Isak said without missing a beat. “Look, though, she’s purring. She likes you. Count your blessings, she usually hates strangers.”

“Like father, like daughter,” Even said.

(Perhaps not an entirely unfair observation, all things considered. In those terms, his cat taking a liking to Even at first sight only seemed inevitable.)

“It’s a good policy,” Isak said. He watched as Toto nudged her head against Even’s palm and blinked slowly; couldn’t help but smile.

Even straightened, turning to him with soft light in his eyes. “I, on the other hand,” he said, “have fallen head over heels for your strange cat. And I don’t regret it one bit.”

(Somehow, that seemed inevitable, too.)

“Well,” Isak said. He turned away. “I’ll let you settle in, maybe get something started for dinner. The guest bedroom’s over there.”

“You have a _guest bedroom_?”

“What did I say,” Isak said over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. “I’m the fucking master of adulthood.”

-

For dinner, Isak boiled some pasta and heated up a sauce he’d made from scratch the night before. It was a bit of a compromise between homemade food and convenience, but then again when he made the sauce he’d already known he’d want to save it for later.

Even came into the kitchen a few minutes before the food was ready. His hair was damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower, dripping lightly on the collar of his plain shirt. He was walking barefoot, shoulders relaxed and hands tucked easily in his pockets. It never failed to impress, that particular way he had of looking so comfortable in the newest and strangest of places.

(Almost at home, if Isak dared to think those words to himself.

He shouldn’t, in any case.)

“Smells good,” Even said. “Do you not have a kitchen table?”

Isak scoffed as he drained the pasta in the sink. “Why would I need a table when I have a bar?”

Even laughed, a low rumble of a sound.

(Like thunder, it sank into Isak’s bones. Made them tremble.)

“That’s so you, somehow,” Even said. “Granted, these are nice barstools.”

“Fuck yeah, they are,” Isak said. “I’ve got _some_ taste, you know.”

“I know,” Even said as he took his seat at the bar. As if that was easy for him to say.

(It probably was.)

The sauce was ready to be served, so he did, and slid into the seat next to Even. He tried not to think too much about what Even thought of the seasoning, the taste. Of course, he couldn’t be completely indifferent to Even’s opinion, considering it was Even’s. But he was at least trying to get better at not thinking the worst, in general.

“Mm,” Even said. “You made this yourself?”

“Yeah,” Isak said, scratching the back of his neck which was inexplicably hot all of a sudden. “I know it’s not exactly the height of fine dining, but if it really sucks we could probably go out tomorrow or something.”

Even laughed. “No, this is perfect,” he said, a word that sent a low, unbidden thrill tingling through Isak’s gut. “I mean, when we first met you still ate instant meals for dinner every other night. You’ve come a long way.”

“Well.” Isak shrugged. “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

Even laughed again, softly. “I don’t know about the best, but…” The corner of his mouth curved upward. “Thanks.”

They were well beyond the point of Isak feeling compelled to deflect - years past it, in fact - so he didn’t try. He smiled into his pasta, instead.

It was bizarre, frankly. He’d prepared himself for awkwardness, and hadn’t been surprised when that was all he’d felt at the train station. He’d spent weeks rehearsing for it. Told himself time and again it wouldn’t be his fault, it would be entirely natural, in fact. Entirely expected. So for all he’d gone back and forth in his head about all that could happen for the last few weeks, perhaps the thing he had prepared for the least was for things to be easy for the both of them.

(But they were, since they’d gotten home. His lungs weren’t tight in his chest, he hadn’t yet been seized with the overwhelming desire to run far away from here. That meant it was easy.)

“God,” Even said. “All of this. Even just walking back to your place, but eating this food, especially. Fuck, Isak, I can’t tell you how much I missed Norwegian food. American food is just…” He grimaced as if this was actually painful for him to talk about, which knowing him and his dramatics it might very well be. “It’s just not the same.”

“When was the last time you were in Oslo, anyway?” Isak mused. “A year? Maybe two?”

“It feels like it’s been twenty.” Even rubbed at his eyes. “I almost feel bad for turning a funeral into an excuse to go on vacation, but I don’t think I do.”

Ah yes. The funeral. The whole reason for Even being in Oslo in the first place.

“It isn’t for anyone you were that close to, though, right?” Isak said. “So maybe you don’t have to feel that bad. I mean, I can understand wanting to visit your parents whenever you get the chance to come to Norway, and it’s not your fault they moved to Bergen after you left Oslo.”

“I don’t know, it’s the principle of it, isn’t it?” Even said with a vague gesture of his hand. “There’s a certain morality to it, or something. And we were pretty good friends in primary school. I used to come over to her house for play dates and everything. It seemed kind of horrible not to come.”

Isak squinted at Even. “I always have trouble picturing you in primary school, somehow,” he said. “Even after I saw the pictures. In my head it’s almost like you just came out of the womb swaggering around pretending to be James Dean and spouting pretentious movie references.”

Even burst into a grin. “I’ve always had the hair for it, obviously.”

“Except for now, when you’ve cut it short,” Isak said.

He almost reached out, almost brushed his fingers against Even’s scalp in a manner very similar to what he might have done without thinking several years prior. Almost felt the softness of Even’s hair under his touch.

And then he blinked, and his hands stayed by his side.

Even ran a hand through his hair himself, almost sheepishly. “Only because I’d been growing it so long it started getting in the way,” he said. “I’m going to let it grow out again, probably because I’m going to forget I’m supposed to cut it.”

“Of course,” Isak said. “You have much more important things to be doing at your fancy production company.”

Even looked down at his plate, twirling more pasta onto his fork. “It’s not my production company,” he said. “And I think my memory’s just really shitty. Growing old does that to you, you know.”

“You’re _twenty-eight_.”

“Or maybe I just need someone to help me remember things,” Even said. He shrugged, and glanced at Isak out of the corner of his eye, and smiled.

It was entirely predictable and Isak had seen it coming for god knows how long, just like he’d seen a lot of things about Even practically from the day they’d met.

But when his heart fluttered in his chest it still felt a little like damnation.

Still, Isak smiled back, because it was easier to do that than it was to not.

“Maybe we all do,” he said.

And Even’s smile grew wider.

-

After dinner, Isak poured them each a bit of red wine. Sometimes he still felt a little strange with the bottle in his hand and the glasses in front of him, almost as if they didn’t belong to him, as if he was still in primary school and putting on an elaborate game of play pretend. As if buying moderately expensive wine in any way meant he was grown up and in charge of his life. One would think he’d get used to the idea the older he grew, but honestly adulthood hadn’t stopped feeling like make believe yet; it was just that pretending had become easier.

Even drifted to the living room with a wine glass in hand, giving Toto a few scritches under her chin before opening the door to the balcony and slipping outside. Toto, presumably awoken from a nap, jumped down from the couch and let out a disgruntled mew. She walked up to Isak and rubbed against his legs and meowed again, petulantly this time. He crouched down and scratched her slowly in a spot below her ear, just where she liked it.

“So what do you think of him, Toto?” Isak asked her. “How do you think he’s doing?”

Toto didn’t answer; just blinked at him slowly, then turned her head and licked his palm with her sandpaper tongue.

“Yeah,” Isak said. “Me too.”

Giving Toto one last pat on the head, he straightened until he was fully standing, and he made his way out onto the balcony.

Even was leaning his elbows against the railing, head craned over the edge. Night had just begun to fall, the sky a deep, inky blue that faded seamlessly into a smudge of pale orange at the horizon. Isak didn’t have a favorite time of day, but if he did this one might come close. There was just something about it, that artful blur between daylight and nighttime, that exact point where you couldn’t quite tell where one ended and the other began, that felt almost sacred, the way things that were liminal often did. Almost transcending mortality, if he was foolish enough to try at poeticism. Or at least defying understanding.

(It wasn’t something he could easily explain to himself because usually he liked things that could be understood. Things that made sense.

But sometimes, things that defied understanding could be really, really beautiful.)

He breathed in deeply, the newborn darkness rushing in to fill the cracks of his lungs, and stepped forward.

“You missed Oslo, didn’t you?” Isak said as he approached the railing. He didn’t lean his elbows against it like Even, because the street below them was a sight he’d seen too many times to count, and at this point he was honestly a little bored of it. He put his back to it instead, tucking a thumb in his pocket and turning his head toward Even to watch him.

“Yeah,” Even said, eyes still turned downward. “I miss it every day.”

Isak swirled the wine glass in his hand idly. “New York’s probably better in some ways.”

“I don’t know.” Even’s eyes didn’t move. That was something Isak knew so well and yet could never truly be used to, the intensity of his stare. He was almost glad it wasn’t turned upon him. “I don’t think it’s something you can really quantify.”

“It’s your home, isn’t it?”

Even brought his glass to his mouth, draining it of its contents in a matter of seconds.

“Home is a strange concept, if you ask me,” he said, wiping at his mouth. “What is it, at its core? It’s the one place you belong, right? Before anywhere else?”

Isak shrugged. “Sure.”

“I used to feel like I could belong anywhere in the world, if I only tried hard enough,” Even said. “Like if I spent enough time and effort I could make a life for myself anywhere. The whole Earth as my home. I liked the sound of that, the feeling of it. I liked it a lot.”

(Isak remembered that. The light in his eyes had been grey.

Just as it was now.)

“Past tense?” Isak asked. He’d never been one to easily let go of details like that.

Even nodded, slowly. “I think now,” he said, “now I kind of just wonder if I’ll ever belong to Oslo again.”

(Isak’s throat began to ache.

Not from the words he said; from the words he didn’t.)

“But what does that mean?” Isak said.

It was remarkable the question sounded so steady in the thin night air.

“Hm.” Even turned his eyes up to the sky, as if in thought. “It’s like this. I feel like wherever you’re born, that place will probably always belong to you. You could move thousands of kilometers away from it, relocate to an entirely different continent, you could leave for half your life and maybe never come back but something deep, deep inside of you will always recognize it as the place of your beginning, so it’ll always matter. There will always be a string tying it to your heart.”

He paused, blinking.

“But sometimes, when I’m in America,” he said, “those days when I realize I’m starting to forget how it feels to stand on the sidewalk here, how the birds chirp when the sun rises, even what the air itself tastes like in the back of your throat…”

He took in a breath, the sound of it sharp like the blade of a knife.

“It almost feels like the string is fraying in the middle,” he said.

(And as if with a knife, the breath was carved clean out of Isak’s throat.)

“I know it sounds kind of silly,” Even continued, though he wasn’t smiling or laughing. “I don’t know. It’s just when you’re away for so long, the details start to blur together, like a fog you can’t shake. Or things just change when you’re gone. Because no city stops for anyone, and it would be so unfair to expect it to. No matter how much you want it to.”

His gaze, now, was turned toward his hands.

(And the light in his eyes was tinted blue.)

“Geez,” Isak said. “That’s kind of dark.”

Even huffed out a surprised-sounding laugh. “Maybe you’re just too young to get it,” he said, teasing lilt to his words, and finally he turned his gaze toward Isak.

(And now his eyes were warm. Like the orange of a hearth.)

Isak rolled his eyes, almost second nature to him at this point.

(Even as his treacherous heart warmed itself in the fire of Even’s eyes.)

“I think I do kind of get what you mean, though,” he said. “It almost kind of hurts not to know how things are doing without you, when you’re that far away.”

Even stared at him, still.

(Isak could feel it just as well as he could see it.)

“Yeah?” Even said.

“But I think it’s like your old self said, too,” Isak said. “Maybe you just have to try.”

Even didn’t say anything to that. But he didn’t look away, either. His head was tilted, and the corner of his mouth was tilted, too.

(If Isak squinted it almost looked like possibility.)

“I feel like we don’t talk enough,” Even said.

Isak laughed, a little awkwardly. “What are you talking about?” he said. “We’re talking right now.”

“I mean I should ask you more questions,” Even said. The smooth line of his mouth turned into a cheeky, lopsided smile. “Be nosier. How’s your job, how’s being an editor for that fancy magazine of yours? How’s your old gang from Nissen? How’s your love life?”

Isak snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, actually,” Even said, raising his eyebrows. “You haven’t really told me much about the guys you’ve dated since I left Oslo.”

Isak stared at him. “For good reason, I think,” he said.

“Why not though?” Even challenged. “You can talk to me about it. I want to know.”

The expression on Even’s face was painfully sincere, of course.

(When wasn’t it?)

“You really want to know,” Isak said.

Even nodded.

And just like that, as easy as it had always been, something inside Isak kind of just -

(Unlocked.)

“Well,” he said. “Okay. I mean, yeah, I’ve dated a few people over the years, sure. There was a guy who was a bit younger than me, studying abroad here. Ethan, that was his name. An American. We dated for three months? Maybe four?” He racked his brain for the exact dates, couldn’t find them. Not that they mattered, in the end. “But he moved back to the States eventually, and I stayed here.”

“You seem to keep losing boyfriends to America,” Even mused.

Isak felt the corner of his mouth quirk up, despite himself. “I’ll say,” he said. “The United States of Homewrecking.”

Even grinned back at him unabashedly. “Was that your most serious relationship?”

Isak thought about it for a bit. “No,” he said. “There was a guy I met at the magazine I work at. It lasted a little over a year, if I remember right? He was thinking about moving in with me. But we were both really busy, and I was getting even busier after my promotion to a proper staff position. So there came a time where I had to choose between us and the job, and, well, you can guess what I decided on.” He paused. “His name was Erik.”

“Ethan. Erik.” Even said the names slowly, as if testing them on his tongue. “You have a type, clearly.”

Isak raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“Guys with names that start with E,” Even said.

He said it so promptly Isak had to laugh. “Shit, I can’t even deny it.” He ran a hand down his face. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing.”

Even smiled gently. “Did you love him?”

Isak looked down at the glass in his hand, the wine he’d barely had any of. He shrugged, carefully noncommittal, and glanced at Even out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow at his expression. “What, are you jealous?”

“Nothing like that,” Even said. He leaned his weight on his elbows, tilting his body over the edge of the balcony as he fixed his eyes on a passing car below. “Hearing it makes me glad, actually.”

“Why?”

A beat of silence.

Then -

“You deserve all the chances at happiness you can get, Isak,” Even said.

His voice was even, his words simple. That was just his way of things. He made everything seem easy.

Isak swallowed, hard.

“Well, what about you?” he said. “Who’ve you dated?”

“My love life has been kind of like yours, I guess,” Even said with a shrug. “I’ve seen a few people over the years.” Here, he burst into a cheeky grin. “Of course, I’m devastatingly single now.”

“Yeah,” Isak said. “You and me both.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Even didn’t laugh. Only sighed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes dating seems kind of pointless. I’m getting old enough that anyone I seriously date is potentially someone I could commit to for life, right? Maybe even marry. And I can’t really see myself marrying anyone right now.”

The question came to mind before Isak knew the words were even inside him. But now it was there, and he realized he shouldn’t say it. He shouldn’t say it because there were lines you just didn’t cross, and maybe five years ago those lines hadn’t existed but now they did because they had drawn them together, and that meant they mattered.

But he wanted to say it. He hadn’t forgotten what it was like when the lines weren’t there. It ran deep inside him like an instinct, this desire to be honest with Even. Like it was written in his DNA itself. A genetic compulsion. It came to him so much more naturally than silence.

He wanted to say it.

So he did.

“Did you ever see yourself marrying me?”

When he looked up and saw the look on Even’s face, he knew.

Even had been thinking it, too.

“You know the answer to that,” Even said.

(Isak’s throat was beyond aching, now. It was dry as his bones.)

“Remind me,” he said.

Even bent his head over his hands. Let out a long, shuddering breath.

(His eyes didn’t have light in them anymore. They were made of glass.)

“Of course I did,” he said, words so soft Isak nearly missed it.

And he looked up, and met Isak’s eyes.

And there was this tenderness in his gaze, so raw and fragile and dear, and Isak didn’t deserve it at all.

“Yeah,” Isak whispered. “Me, too.”

The silence between them was a whole ocean.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, after that. He didn’t count the seconds. But he measured the way the quiet filled him up from the dark pit of his gut to his throat scraped raw, inch by inch as it crawled up his itching ribcage; and when he couldn’t bear it anymore, that feeling of drowning, he said, “I should get to bed, now,” and he turned away, and he pushed himself off the railing with the palms of his hands.

So in the end, he left first. And he didn’t look back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it was the fact that for him it was fine not to have dreams to believe in like other people did, but the rest of the world didn’t seem to think so.
> 
> Or maybe the thing about him was that he just wasn’t the kind of man who was made for dreams like that.
> 
> (After all, he’d only ever dreamed of people.)

_ II. _

Isak woke up about twenty minutes before his alarm clock was supposed to ring. For a blissfully hazy moment he let himself entertain the idea of staying in bed for the rest of the morning or possibly forever. If he didn’t have to go to work, was there really any  _ need _ to be awake before 7:30 in the morning? 

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of eggs sizzling in a pan coming from the kitchen, and that was all it took for him to fling his covers off and launch himself out of bed.

He tugged on the nearest shirt he could find - plain, grey, draped on the back of his chair and not crumpled on the floor which definitely counted as another point for him in the game of adulthood - and walked to the kitchen. Yes, just as he had thought, Even was standing there by the stove. Toto rubbed against his bare ankles and mewed softly as he hummed something indecipherable under his breath and stirred at a glass bowl in his hands. It was so predictable, Even marching in here as if the kitchen and everything inside it belonged to him without even feeling the need to ask, that Isak wanted to laugh.

But he didn’t. Even hadn’t seemed to notice Isak’s approach, and Isak couldn’t help but pause in the entrance; couldn’t help but try to steal this vision for himself, just for the briefest of moments. Making breakfast wasn’t exactly the most exciting ritual you could spy on, he was aware. But the thing about Even was, he always managed to make whatever he was doing, no matter how mundane, fully his own. 

(Isak didn’t know how not to find that spellbinding; he’d never even tried to unlearn the instinct.)

He stood and watched for a bit. Even was wearing a white shirt with nondescript sweatpants, his shoulders loose and relaxed, his whole body bouncing up and down as he balanced on the balls of his feet. Isak still couldn’t quite pick out the melody Even was humming, but from the bob of his head he could tell there was a clear rhythm to it, a silent beat that moved him. The newly rising sun peeking through the window above the sink slanted across his back and his neck in a soft, forgiving light, and even from behind he looked like he belonged here.

(He looked almost radiant.)

It was infuriating, in a way. Isak had suspected this was going to happen ever since he knew Even would be staying in his flat, because hadn’t Even always had that way about him? Hadn’t Isak seen with his very own eyes from the first night Even had stayed with him years and years ago, back when he still lived with Eskild and Linn, just how little time it’d taken before Even had wormed his ways into the cracks of all of their lives? It had started with the small things. With Even knowing where to find the spare toilet paper under the sink. Or Even rearranging the spices in the cupboard without a second thought. Or Even admitting to Isak one night that he’d begun to feel as if he belonged more in Isak’s bed than any other bed in the world, even his own. 

(In the end, it wasn’t a small thing at all. It was simply an inevitability.)

So Isak knew Even’s ways, of course. He’d simply miscalculated how quickly it would take, this time around.

But then, here was the most irritating part of it all:

He didn’t even mind it.

(Part of him -

The part of him that stood here now, that could almost hear the words to the song Even hummed curling in his ears like a whisper; 

The part of him that soaked in all these details simply because he wanted to, ravenously greedy in a way he hadn’t even known still existed inside of him -

That part of him craved it.)

Isak blinked, hard. 

It took a little more focusing than usual, perhaps because his head was still fuzzy with sleep. But another blink and now, undeniably, aside from the sizzling of the eggs and Even’s quiet humming, there was only silence.

Isak cleared his throat, and broke it.

Even spun around on his heel and immediately burst into a wide grin, just like that. 

“Good morning, Isak,” he said. “Sorry for stealing your food.”

Isak rolled his eyes as he walked to the bar and sank heavily onto one of the stools. “You could have just asked,” he said, voice laced with more irritation than he actually felt. “It’s not like I would have said no.”

Even reached for the beeping espresso machine - a gleaming monstrosity of a thing, but Isak didn’t regret a single krone he’d spent on it - and poured out a cup of something that steamed enticingly as it hit the ceramic. He slid it in front of Isak with a flourish of his hand. A peace offering, evidently.

“I’m sorry,” Even said again. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Isak squinted at the coffee in front of him. “I’m supposed to be hosting  _ you _ ,” he said accusingly.

Even held up his hands with a laugh. “You made dinner, and you’ve given me my own room for a few nights,” he said. “Breakfast is the least I can do. You know it’s what I do best.”

Isak didn’t know about that, but it was still far too early for him to have any sort of debate about anything, let alone about something as dangerous as what Even was best at. He reached for the coffee and pulled it close to his chest.

“So what’s the plan?” Isak said. “The funeral’s tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, the funeral,” Even said, scooping the eggs he’d been cooking onto two plates and bringing them over to the bar. He slid into the seat next to Isak and rested his chin on his hand. “Shit, I still have to figure out how to get there.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Isak said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Even cast him a sidelong glance. “Really? You’re not too busy?”

Isak shrugged. “I took a couple days off at work. Figured I should finally start using my vacation days for something more productive than sitting at home on my ass rewatching cartoons from my childhood.”

It was only as he said it that he realized he hadn’t told Even about this before now. Which, on the one hand, wasn’t that strange, come to think of it. What was the last thing they’d even talked about before Even messaged him over Skype - after all these years, this man still didn’t have a Facebook - asking for a place to stay for a few days? That Isak couldn’t bring it immediately to mind was telling, in itself. 

It wasn’t like they were strangers after all that happened. They were still in the habit of sending each other links to articles or videos that seemed relevant as they might do with their other friends, Even waxing poetic about the movies he’d seen the week before, Isak sending him the occasional picture of his cat. At some point in their relationship, it had become easier to treat each other like close acquaintances than anything else. And after that habit had formed neither of them had bothered to change it again, and that was the end of it.

(Then again, acquaintances weren’t usually in the habit of dropping practically everything for each other. So there was that.)

“Wow,” Even said. Isak almost expected him to protest more, if only because that felt like the expected response from anyone else in this situation. But of course Even was Even, so he didn’t do that. He simply nodded. “Thanks, Isak.”

Isak grabbed his fork and started shoveling eggs into his mouth. “You really don’t have to thank me,” he mumbled at his plate.

Even huffed out a laugh, a hint of something like fondness softening its edge. “In any case,” he said. “I’m leaving the morning after that, but I guess I’ve got today free. I was thinking about meeting up with Mikael this morning, and maybe I’ll try to grab some lunch with my other Bakka friends. A day isn’t enough to catch up with everyone, but I figured I’d try, at least.”

“You’re still in touch with them?” Isak said. There was a twinge in his gut, incredibly, infuriatingly. One he had no right to but one he felt all the same.

“Yeah, we Skype every now and then,” Even said. Another twinge; Isak stomped it down fiercely. “You’re still in touch with the Nissen gang, right?”

Isak snorted. “I don’t think I have a choice,” he said.

“That’s good, though.” There was a trace of wistfulness in Even’s voice - just a smudge of it. “It must be nice to have everyone so close.”

“Not everyone, actually. Noora moved to Stockholm to chase down something career related. And Jonas is off traveling the world doing who knows what with his photography blog, but we call whenever he gets Wi-Fi.” Isak shrugged. “You’re right, though. It’s not bad.”

“Still,” Even said. “It’s hard not to have your best friend around.”

Isak had to look at him, at that. But Even didn’t meet his eyes.

The world went grey, for one heartstopping moment.

( _ What do you mean? _

Isak could feel the words taking shape on his tongue. They tasted sharp, like the blade of a sword; like an accusation.)

He swallowed, and blinked, and looked down. The yellow returned to the remnants of his eggs.

“I miss that bunch, though,” Even said after a while. “They’re good people.”

The wistfulness hadn’t yet left his voice. There was no way Isak could miss it.

“I’ll tell you what,” Isak said. “I’ve been thinking about inviting some of them over for dinner, anyway. Why don’t I see who’s free tonight? Maybe you’ll get a chance to catch up with some of them.”

Even raised his eyebrows. “You? Hosting a dinner party on your own?”

How did Even know dinner parties in the inner sanctum of his home weren’t his thing now, Isak wanted to demand, but there would be no point, because of course he would be right.

“It’s not a party,” Isak said. “And it’s not every day you’re in Oslo. Might as well make the most of it.”

(Which was the safe way of putting it.)

“Yeah,” Even said, turning his eyes downward. “I guess that’s true.”

(Somehow, it still felt like he got what Isak hadn’t said.)

Isak put his fork down on his plate. The clatter it made was louder than he anticipated; he had to tamp down the urge to flinch. 

“You’ll be okay on your own today, right?” he said. “I should probably stay in and do some work.”

“I thought you had time off,” Even said, frowning.

Isak shrugged. 

(He didn’t know if Even would have asked him to meet with Mikael and the other boys, but honestly he didn’t want to know either way.)

“There’s always shit to be done,” he said. “You know how it is. Emails to be sent. Fires to be put out. And also started.”

“I can understand that,” Even said. His eyes went gentle with sympathy, just for a moment. “Just make sure to take some time for yourself today, okay?”

Isak had no idea what to even say to that.

Which Even probably sensed, because he didn’t let the silence linger. Instead, he pushed himself out of his seat, the legs of the stool scraping loudly against the floor, and brought his dishes to the sink. “I should go get ready for the day.”

Even was almost out the door before Isak remembered something.

“Wait,” he said, twisting around in his seat. 

Even paused obligingly, meeting his eyes with a question in the quirk of his eyebrows.

“You said Mikael was still in town,” Isak said. “And the other guys.”

“Yeah?”

“Then - ” Isak could feel himself grasping for words. “Then why’d you ask if you could stay here?”

Something softened in Even’s expression. A tenderness that Isak’s heart was well-acquainted with, that was fucking unbearable to witness all at once.

“You really think you’d be my last choice?” Even asked.

He sounded sad. Isak wished he wouldn’t.

“Aren’t I?” Isak said, helplessly.

Even looked at him, for a long moment. 

And the longer he looked the more keenly Isak felt the silence that surrounded them, the more unsteady his breath became in his lungs because the silence exposed the truth between them in a way nothing else ever could.

And the moment it was done carving everything away, the moment Isak felt so naked the flesh might fall away from his bones, that was the moment Even said, very quietly - 

“No, Isak. You aren’t.”

And he smiled a small smile, and turned, and walked away.

And Isak was left blinking in his absence. Because this was just how it was going to go, evidently.

When it came to leaving, they could only take it in turns.

-

The hours of the morning plowed relentlessly forward, as time had the tendency to do. Isak cleaned up in the kitchen, filled up Toto’s food bowl, made himself put on real clothes. Even took a shower, made a couple phone calls, left with a vague promise to be back before the party-that-wasn’t-really-a-party. Sooner rather than later, Isak was alone again in his apartment.

(Go figure.)

Isak grabbed his laptop and his phone from his desk and moved to the living room in the hopes that the view through the balcony door would be inspiring, or perhaps distracting. Honestly, it didn’t even matter. He just needed to not think for a while.

First thing he did was send a mass text to the group chat, which received a decent handful of people expressing enthusiasm and availability for the night. So that was sorted. Next he opened up his email. It wasn’t like he’d lied about having work to do in his off time, if the staggering number of unread messages that greeted him was anything to go by. There were submissions to slog through, articles to approve, facts to check. Being the managing editor for the science section of his company’s flagship publication was no walk in the fucking park.

He read through the emails. Read through them again. Made a list inside his head of the things he had to say, the people he had to chase down.

Sat in the silence of his own creation.

He should write the list down, maybe. Or start actually doing work. He should do something. Anything.

He didn’t. He frowned at his computer screen instead.

Losing himself in his work wasn’t usually a thing he had difficulty with, but every now and then, in moments that were fleeting but memorable, he found that he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop the doubts from creeping back in again, which they were sometimes prone to do even after the long war he’d waged to fight them back, the one that might never have a true ending. Couldn’t stop himself from wondering just what it was he thought he was doing here, pretending at adulthood, pretending he was competent enough to do this job he liked well enough but never expected to find himself at when he was a child. Come to think of it, he didn’t really know if he’d ever pictured himself anywhere when he was in high school, not like Noora who’d been working in journalism since she was barely a teenager. Not like Sana who’d chased after the dream of medical school since before he’d even met her. 

(Not like Even.)

The concept of a dream job had always seemed a little unreal to him, honestly. He’d never had a firm idea of what he might want to commit decades of his life to, never felt that drive light up his heart like he’d seen in countless others. He’d never really wanted it.

Then again, that’s what made moments like this feel - not wrong, but askew, somehow. Like he was missing something, something very important that everyone else in the world had but him. And he’d never learn what it was. And maybe he was okay with that. But maybe he didn’t know if he was allowed to be. 

To be fair, he only felt it occasionally. It really was fine, for the most part. This job was something he liked, and something he was good at. And that was fine. 

But when he did feel it, it froze him up, the ice taking root in the pit of his stomach and climbing up his lungs, his throat. It was impossible to ignore.

Maybe it was the fact that for him it was fine not to have dreams to believe in like other people did, but the rest of the world didn’t seem to think so.

Or maybe the thing about him was that he just wasn’t the kind of man who was made for dreams like that.

(After all, he’d only ever dreamed of people.)

Isak bent his head over his keyboard and pressed his knuckles into his eyes, heaving a forceful sigh out of his lungs.

It came back to this, didn’t it? It always came back to this.

He’d probably be wondering if his reasons for staying in Oslo were good enough for the rest of his life.

-

Of course, in the end, they’d both known that he had to.

And it wasn’t like they hadn’t discussed it. God, some days it almost felt like they talked about it too much, the weight of the words they carried inside themselves so immense it very nearly crushed the both of them. They’d stayed together until the day Even stepped onto the plane that would take him to America for - who knew how long, back then. For all they knew about the future back then it could have been forever.

(And that was the thing about it, wasn’t it? They simply didn’t know.)

Maybe it had been foolish to cling onto each other until the last possible second. Maybe they should have ended it sooner, maybe they should have talked about it for only a day rather than nearly a month, maybe then it would have hurt less. Or maybe it didn’t matter. What was a drop of rain, what even was a thousand drops of rain compared to the whole sea?

So maybe they had to talk about it like that. Maybe it wouldn’t have made sense, otherwise. Maybe if they’d kept the words inside of themselves they would have burst into flame.

Isak didn’t know what the right maybes were. He’d never known. What he knew was what happened. What he knew was what they’d said, and what he’d felt. What he knew was that it had never been a question of whether he was going to stay or leave Oslo; that had barely even been on the table.

It was the uncertainty that shrouded them, rather. The long, winding path of the future that neither of them could see the end to. They’d both had their own cloud of uncertainty to contend with, separate and looming and so vast that when they tried to fit them into an equation that made sense it just didn’t. Isak had to stay; Even had to go. Long distance was not an impossibility, but it was hard enough when you knew that it would end some day, when you were in the same country, working toward the same goal. It was hard enough without an entire ocean between them.

Yet still. The doubt. He knew, deep inside of him in the same way he knew his own name, that this was a choice they could never go back on. That he couldn’t change it, even if he wanted to. The doubt wasn’t about the choice, but about the reasons. The questions they’d asked and the answers they’d given. It was days like these he had to wonder, simply because the answer to the question was one he’d never had.

In those days when they were still together, some days it’d felt like there was nothing in the whole world - the entire universe, if he was feeling particularly dramatic - that could tear them apart. There would be problems, of course. There would be consequences. But nothing seemed too big for their love to conquer.

And yet, this thing. This thing that contained no screaming, no hatred, no infidelity. This utterly quiet thing had been their undoing.

(It was that, really, that resulted in days like these, few as they were now.

Days like these, he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.)

-

The funny thing about it, he thought as his lunch warmed up in the microwave, was that he almost wanted to be angry at Even.

About all of it, really. About coming into his home because he hadn’t thought to ask anyone else first. About being so kind and tender and sad all at once, all the time. About the most irrational things, even. About becoming fast friends with his cat within minutes of meeting her and making breakfast with Isak’s food and thanking him for the stupidest fucking things and actually  _ meaning _ it. 

But of course he couldn’t be angry at Even. Not at him. Because Even was just being Even, wasn’t he? What crime was it for him to be the person he’d always been, the person he was always meant to be? 

(The truth was,  _ that _ was what he’d always been best at. There was no truer answer Isak knew.)

The microwave started beeping. In this moment it sounded aggressive, almost intrusive. A noise that made him realize he didn’t have much of an appetite, right now. 

He gripped at the edge of the counter with both his hands, head bent over as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Yeah. Come to think of it, it actually wasn’t funny at all.

-

Even came back home with a pink flush to his cheeks and a bottle of wine in hand, about an hour before everyone else was due to arrive.

“You look like you had fun,” Isak said, stepping aside to let Even into the flat.

Even crouched down to scratch Toto’s head, who had come running to the door at the commotion and was now rubbing insistently at his legs. “We had a lot to catch up on,” he said. “There’s just something really special about friends you’ve known for over a decade, you know? Things fall back into place so easily.” He straightened back up and handed the bottle to Isak with a bright grin.

Isak took it and glanced at the label, eyes widening as he read the brand. “Wow,” he said. “You really didn’t have to.”

Even shrugged his jacket off and stuck it in the coat closet. “Whatever you say, it  _ is _ a party,” he said. “And I came prepared.”

“Jesus,” Isak said. “I regret signing up for this already.”

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“That doesn’t mean it was a  _ good _ one.”

Even laughed freely at that. He bent down to scoop Toto in his arms - which, incredibly, she allowed - and sat down on the couch with her on his lap. He gestured at the shut laptop on the coffee table. “Did you get everything you wanted to done?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Isak said. He took his seat in a chair across from Even. “Though I don’t think the emails are ever going to stop. I guarantee you I’m going to wake up tomorrow to at least three fresh waves of bullshit.”

Even winced, looking genuinely sorry. “That sounds terrible.”

“It is what it is,” Isak said with a shrug. “Your job probably has its ups and downs, too.”

Even chewed at his bottom lip. “I love it all, actually,” he said, an air of confession about the words, not that this was a surprising one. “The job, I mean. Sure, it’s not always about the film making. Sometimes there’s meetings, and paperwork, and all that bureaucratic bullshit. But it’s all part of the process, you know? All of it is with the end goal of making  _ art _ .”

Yes, this certainly didn’t surprise Isak at all.

(Awfully, though, selfishly, Isak let himself hate the answer. Just for one brief moment.)

“I’m glad you’re with a company you actually like now, then,” Isak said levelly.

Even laughed, almost abashedly. “The pay is great, that’s for sure,” he said. “Although I would appreciate having more control over what projects I take on. But still. I can’t complain. I have a stable job in one of the most competitive cities for film, don’t I? That’s more than I could have ever asked for.”

(Even used to ask for so much more than that, if Isak remembered correctly. He used to ask for the entire world.

As far as Isak was concerned, he deserved to.)

“I don’t know,” Isak said. “I feel like you could still complain. Didn’t you used to say that the one thing you could never compromise on was the freedom to make what you want? It’s important to you, at least. Isn’t it?”

That was enough to get Even to look up at him, apparently. He looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected Isak to say that.

(Maybe Isak hadn’t expected it, either.)

Even looked back down, fingers tracing patterns in Toto’s fur.

“Still,” he said, quieter now. “I like what I do, as a cinematographer. It doesn’t always matter what story I have to tell, as long as I get to choose how to tell it.” He blinked. “That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

(If it counted for Even, then really, wasn’t that all that mattered?)

“You’ve definitely worked hard to get to where you are,” Isak said. “It’s really cool, actually. Kind of inspirational.”

“Isak, did you just say you find me inspirational?” Even gasped, clutching a hand to his chest. “I can’t believe it.”

Isak rolled his eyes. “Dumbass,” he said. “I thought that was just a given.”

Even’s hand dropped back down to Toto’s head. Isak didn’t mean what he’d said as anything special, but Even was still looking at him with gentle light in his eyes, like he’d had a small revelation. Or maybe a big one.

“Thanks, Isak,” he said softly.

(It was so much more than the moment had called for. Isak couldn’t help but feel it, deep inside of him in a place he thought he’d buried long ago.)

Even glanced to the side, then, eyes widening as they locked onto something just beyond Isak’s peripheral vision. “Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot to ask,” he said. “How’s your mother doing?”

Isak followed his gaze, and realized he was looking at a photo frame sitting on the bookcase behind him. His arm around his mother, the both of them smiling quietly at the camera. It wasn’t a picture Even had seen before, Isak was certain of it.

“It’s okay. A lot’s been going on. Mama is…” Isak took in a deep breath. “She’s great, actually. You know I moved into this place so I could be closer to her? I don’t regret it. I see her at least once a week.”

Even smiled, warm and genuine. “That’s awesome,” he said. “Honestly. I’m glad she has you.”

It had been a long time since Isak had last felt like his mother having him might not be enough. Because he couldn’t actually live with her, he couldn’t visit her every day, for a period of time he’d even ignored her messages when he shouldn’t have. He hadn’t forgotten how that felt, but it surely counted for something that he didn’t feel it anymore.

This was one of those things that made him feel most keenly how much he’d grown up since he was a kid. In high school, the mere thought of having a good relationship with his parents had seemed ludicrous.

(But he was glad to have it, all things considered. He really was glad that wasn’t one of the things he’d lost.)

With a startle, he realized he hadn’t said anything in answer. Before he could think of anything, he blinked, and registered the sight of Even smiling down at his hands buried in Toto’s fur.

“I’m glad things are good for you, Isak,” he said. “I meant what I said last night, you know that, right? You deserve all the happiness in the universe.”

He looked up to meet Isak’s eyes, and there was no shame in his gaze, no remorse, no sadness. Only kindness.

( _ God help me _ , Isak thought weakly. 

But there was no helping him now.)

“Jesus christ,” Isak said out loud. “What are you doing to my poor cat?”

Even looked down again where Toto was looking up at him, presumably disgruntled at being held in a lap for so long. He laughed and scratched under her ear, and she visibly melted under his touch. Less than a day, and he’d already found her favorite spot. Naturally.

“I should let her go, shouldn’t I?” Even sighed loudly, dramatic as ever.

“We should be getting ready, anyway,” Isak said. “I might need your help with the appetizers.”

“Wow, Isak, you should have led with the fact that there’s going to be  _ appetizers _ ,” Even said. With a gentle push, he coaxed Toto off his lap, and stood. “Lead the way, good sir.”

Isak laughed, even though it wasn’t that funny; he just couldn’t help himself.

-

They brought out a folding table and set it up in his living room, mostly at Even’s insistence that a bar was not the same thing as an actual table. He also insisted on helping Isak set the table and finish cooking the food, and at this point Isak did not have the mental capacity to even consider arguing. It was just one of those things you couldn’t hope to fight against. There were hurricanes, and then there was the force of Even’s will.

At 18:30, the buzzer rang, and Isak ran to the door to open it. Sana was standing on the doorstep, broad smile on her face and smart coat around her shoulders.

“Hey, Sana,” Isak said, smiling back. “It’s good to see you.”

Sana looked around Isak into the living room. “Oh good, you actually got a table for tonight,” she said. “I was worried when you said you were going to be having us for dinner.”

“Wait, why were you worried?”

Sana’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, because a bar is not a table?”

“Thank you!” Even shouted from the kitchen.

Isak sighed loudly. “Not two seconds in the same apartment and you two are already ganging up on me. Fucking unbelievable.”

Sana grinned. “You just make it so easy,” she said. She stepped in and gave him a quick but warm hug, before patting him on the shoulder and stepping into the kitchen to greet Even.

Eva came about ten minutes later with flowers for Isak—“though maybe I shouldn’t have brought these for you, they’re definitely going to die under your watch”; “I invite you into my home and your gift is to insult me?!”—and a kiss on the cheek for Even, which she delivered with a delighted laugh. Then came Mahdi and Magnus, welcoming Even back to Oslo with a handshake and a wildly enthusiastic embrace, respectively. Isak enlisted everyone’s help to start bringing food to the table, and as he took in all the talking and the laughter, he couldn’t help but smile at it all. Already, things felt just a little warmer around here, just a little brighter.

(He was starting to think he should have people over more often.)

The buzzer sounded one last time, and he opened the door to let Eskild and Linn in just as the last plates were being set on the table. Eskild flew over the threshold and wrapped him up in a long embrace as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. “Isak!” he said, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You don’t invite me to your home often enough.”

“You were just over for lunch on Sunday,” Isak deadpanned.

Eskild patted his cheek. “Not often enough!”

“Hey, Isak,” Linn said. She had her hair pinned up, which suited her quite well. She cocked an eyebrow. “You weren’t about to start dinner without us, were you?”

“Of course not,” Isak said. “You’re just in time, actually.”

“Wow,” Eskild said. “We’re amazing.” And with that he spun past Isak and burst onto the scene with loud greetings for everyone. Linn followed behind more slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Which Isak felt like he could understand. It had been a very long time indeed since he’d seen so many people from his old circles in one place. It wasn’t easy to have gatherings like this nowadays, and recently he’d only really had the energy to hang out with people one on one, or very occasionally one on two. So it was good to have a reason tonight, and it was good that the reason was Even.

(Whatever else Isak felt about it, he couldn’t deny how objectively good it was to have Even back in Oslo.

He just couldn’t.)

-

Dinner went well, all things considered. Conversation didn’t stop flowing, and neither did the laughter, or the wine. He managed to ask everyone how they were doing, which was good because truthfully he could stand to be a little better about keeping up with his friends’ lives. No one hated his food, a small relief. When Isak brought out a cake he’d picked up from a neighboring bakery, Magnus and Mahdi started slow clapping, and for just a moment it was almost like they were back in high school again, being dumb about things and not giving a single shit about it.

(The most important thing - 

Every time Isak glanced over at Even, he was smiling. 

And he could tell that he meant it.)

After dessert they cleared away the dinner plates and folded the table back up to prop it against a wall. Isak put on some music over his speakers and served coffee to anyone who wanted it. It was his way of trying to wind down a lowkey evening, and even though he knew on a logical level none of his friends would care that much - it wasn’t like their opinion of him was riding on a single dinner party - he still found himself weirdly anxious about what people thought of the music, the coffee, the night itself. Just because his friends wouldn’t judge him for this - the biggest event he’d hosted at his house in months, his brain helpfully supplied - didn’t mean that it didn’t matter what they thought.

Not that they would tell him, in any case. He knew it would be unbelievably extra of him to take a poll, but a small part of him was still tempted, as they left his house one by one and he wished them all a good night.

It was only a matter of time before only a few people were left. Sana and Even were out on the balcony, clearly visible through the glass though all Isak could tell was that they seemed deeply wrapped up in whatever they were talking about. Eskild was in the kitchen, insistent on helping Isak clear up the rest of the night’s mess. Isak let himself fall onto the couch with a half empty glass of wine in one hand, head lolling back toward the ceiling. Despite everything, it had been a good night, right? Maybe he should feel strange about the fact that he didn’t know for sure. But he liked his friends, and he hadn’t felt yet like he’d made some monumental fuck-up he couldn’t possibly hope to recover from. Which had to count for something.

(Going one night without feeling like that had to amount to some kind of victory.)

Eskild crashed onto the couch, startling Isak upright. He wrapped his arm around Isak and squeezed at his shoulder, an old ritual that Isak still found a little comforting.

“What are you doing, sitting here like a sad sack?” Eskild said.

“Hey,” Isak protested. “I’m not a sad sack.”

“Fine,” Eskild said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re a perfectly normal sack.”

“Thanks,” Isak said wryly.

“But I can feel you stressing from a mile away,” Eskild said, “and I’m here to tell you not to worry your pretty little head. Everyone had a wonderful time tonight.”

Isak squinted at him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Of course,” Eskild said with a bright grin. “I think we all missed Even, a little. So it’s really lovely to see him doing so well. I was talking to him earlier and he said work was going great for him. And apparently he recently switched to a new therapist he’s really happy with. Isn’t that incredible?”

Even hadn’t told Isak that. 

(Not that he needed to.)

“I’m happy for him,” Isak said, as honestly as he could.

“He’s looking good, isn’t he?” Eskild said, approval clear in his voice.

Isak glanced over in Even’s direction. The lights on the balcony were on, the yellow glow setting Even’s profile in sharp relief as he leaned toward Sana. He hadn’t changed for the night, had just undone a button of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows to loosen up a bit. It made him look relaxed, confident. Comfortable, which was most important.

(Yeah. He really did look good.)

“So how are you doing, anyway?” Eskild said, giving Isak a little shake round the shoulders. “You’ve been going around asking everyone else. It’s about time someone asked _ you _ .”

Isak could easily say something sarcastic to that. He didn’t particularly want to, though. Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins; maybe it was the look in Eskild’s eyes. 

(Maybe it was how happy Even looked, through the glass of the balcony door. 

Maybe seeing something like that always made him want to take things seriously.)

“I’m all right,” Isak said. “Honestly.”

Eskild grinned, taking what he said at face value, apparently. Which was a relief.

“I’m glad to hear that, Isak,” he said. “It must have been a strange few days for you.”

Isak dragged a hand down his face. “Yeah, taking all that time from work… Honestly, I think my boss is half-convinced I’ve been replaced by an alien or something. Like, when was the last time I asked for that many days? Fuck if I know.”

“That’s not…” Eskild pursed his lips. “Hm. That’s not what I meant.”

Isak frowned at him. “What did you mean, then?”

“Having your - ” Eskild hesitated. “Having Even in your home after - well. When was the last time you saw him in person? Over a year ago? And it was just a quick meeting over coffee.”

So there it was. One thing about Eskild - you could always count on him to get straight to the point. For better or for worse.

“Yeah,” Isak said. “I know.”

“Doesn’t it feel strange to you?”

Isak thought about it, even though he didn’t really have to. He thought about it as he took a long sip of his wine and glanced once more in Even’s direction, the sight of him like a habit he just couldn’t quit. He watched as Even threw his head back and laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling and the lines of his mouth younger-looking than they’d ever been.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

Even tilted his head forward again. The laughter was done but his joy was not, and it was still visible in every line of his face, his stance, his everything. He exuded it.

(Isak’s heart ached to touch it.)

“Maybe I kind of want it to,” Isak said, very quietly.

He tore his gaze away from Even and turned it back to Eskild. But that was a mistake, because there was a terrible pity in Eskild’s eyes that was near impossible to look at.

“Oh, Isak,” he said.

Isak shook his head, downed more wine. There was nothing to say to that.

“Maybe…” Eskild sighed. “Maybe letting him stay with you wasn’t such a good idea.”

Isak looked over at him sharply. “And what does  _ that _ mean?”

“I just don’t want to see you in pain, Isak,” Eskild said. “It’s terrible to see you suffer.”

“I’m not suffering.”

“Maybe not,” Eskild said, “but you still love him, don’t you?”

The question wasn’t meant to be cruel, Isak could tell from the patience in Eskild’s eyes and the steady reassurance of his hand on his arm. It wasn’t meant to knock the breath from his lungs, to steal the speech from his throat. To twist at something raw and blistering and naked inside of him. 

But the words had that effect anyway.

(Part of him wanted to say,  _ Well, so what?  _ So fucking what?

It wasn’t like he was ever trying to pretend otherwise.)

The balcony door swung open. It didn’t crash against the wall, but the noise still ripped through Isak like an earthquake.

His head snapped to the side as Even and Sana stepped in. “It’s been fun, but it’s getting late,” Sana was saying.

“I can walk you down to your car,” Even offered.

“Such a gentleman.”

It was then that Even’s head turned in Isak’s direction, and it was then that their gazes caught onto each other, and held.

And Isak knew. He knew what was in his eyes, what you could probably see from the next fucking continent like a damn beacon, and he knew Even wouldn’t miss it.

He knew from the way Even’s entire being stilled.

“Isak?” he said.

Isak stared. His vision was going blurry, cross-eyed. It was almost like there were two Even’s standing side by side, so close to each other their edges blurred and caught like static. It was a crossroads, he realized. He could say something, and it would be heard by one Even; he could say something else, and it would be heard by the other. It was a moment suspended between time and space.

Caught between realities.

He blinked.

The world became clear again. Sana was looking at him with a question in her eyes. Eskild was looking at him with concern in the line of his mouth.

Even was looking at him. 

Just Even.

But Isak didn’t say anything at all.

He got up, and he left the room.

(And his head was as empty as the glass in his hand.)

-

Toto, lying in the middle of his bed, perked up when he entered his bedroom, blinking blearily as he turned on the lights. He collapsed on the mattress, and cradled an arm around her, and closed his eyes. And breathed.

She burrowed closer into his side, a small spot of warmth that steadied the chaos under his ribs, just a little. He could feel the slow rise and fall of her small body under his touch, could feel it sinking under his skin; felt it like an anchor in a stormy sea. 

So he lay there in the darkness, and hugged his cat close. She breathed with him, and she didn’t leave. And he was grateful for it. 

(He had to be.)

-

Some time later the door to his bedroom opened, the sound soft like a whisper. It closed again, just as gently, and there were footsteps muffled by the carpet. 

One. 

Two. 

Three.

And then there was silence.

“Hi,” Isak said. He didn’t look to see who it was; he didn’t need to.

“So I walked Sana down to her car,” Even said.

“Good.”

“Did Eskild leave?”

“I guess.”

“Are you okay?” Even asked, from a distance. Voice like it was coming from behind a wall. Or a mirror.

“Yeah,” Isak said to the ceiling. “I just wanted to lie down.”

“Are you drunk?”

Concern, carefully pitched so it would sound like anything but. Isak heard it anyway.

He closed his eyes. “Not drunk enough,” he said.

“What does that mean?” 

Isak could practically hear the frown in those words.

“I’m drunk enough to be honest,” he said. “But not about the things I want to be.”

Silence, for a moment more.

“Though maybe that isn’t right,” Isak said. “Maybe it’s that the things I want to be honest about are the things I shouldn’t say.”

It was dark behind his eyelids, dark as the night; he soaked it all up like a sponge.

“Can I sit here for a bit?”

Isak didn’t answer. He counted the seconds in his head. 

Eight, and the mattress shifted under him as Even sat on the edge of the bed. 

(He could see it so clearly in his mind - Even’s feet touching the floor, his palms flat against the mattress; head turned to the side, just enough that he could catch a glimpse of Isak’s prone body, the hump of Toto’s back barely visible on his other side. It was like a vision, almost. Like a remnant from a different universe. Like a ghost of a memory Isak didn’t really have, a color that didn’t exist, a feeling as tangible as smoke.

For a jagged second, he was afraid to open his eyes.

Afraid to blink.)

Isak cleared his throat, instead.

“I felt like that a lot after we broke up, you know,” he said. “So it’s not like this is anything new.” 

A sharp intake of breath, quiet; but in the silence of the room, it echoed. 

“What made you feel that way?”

“I don’t know. I guess it was how right after it happened we went a full two weeks without saying anything to each other. It was weird, honestly.” They’d never talked about this, and now they were, and that was weird too, in its own way. Isak opened his eyes, turning his head to Even. “Did you feel it too? The way we went from speaking every day to basically nothing?”

Briefly, Isak felt as if he could be dreaming right now. Lying on his back, the tired seeping into his veins in a way that was as familiar to him as breathing - this was a feeling that was liminal in nature. Many nights he’d lain in this same spot and imagined this conversation and how it would go, until he’d written every word of the script in the back of his head; and then he spent many nights more revising it, deleting letters, shifting around phrases like fiddling with the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Leaving space for Even’s lines, because those he could never try to write. Carefully saving up all the things he’d ever wanted to say about how he’d felt in the space between the day Even left Oslo and the day he felt like he could live again, hoarding each word like a jewel inside his ribcage.

(The thing that felt most like a dream:

Knowing that all of this, for once, was real.)

“Yes,” Even said. Almost whispered the word. “I felt it, too.”

(Of course he did. Isak had known it. Even now, it was almost like knowing himself.)

“I think I was the one who said something first,” Isak said. “Right? I sent the first text. Just a quick,  _ how are you _ ? But it took me two whole weeks just to convince myself to send it. I felt like such a dumbass.”

“Why’d you feel like a dumbass?”

“It just felt so stupid,” Isak said. “Like, why  _ couldn’t _ I ask you how you were doing? I was dying to know. It  _ hurt _ that I didn’t know. But - I don’t know. Suddenly, it was like I didn’t even have the right to ask, anymore. Or the right to know.”

Even said nothing.

“I guess it’s kind of hard to put into words,” Isak said. “We always said we’d be those exes who’d stay friends. If we ever did become exes. Because there was a time we thought - ” 

No, that was too much, that was something he couldn’t say. He made himself start again. 

“Remember…” He struggled to remember his words, himself. “Remember when I used to send you those stupid YouTube videos where they bring together couples who broke up and make them answer these invasive as fuck questions and if they can’t answer them they have to take a shot of bottom shelf vodka or whatever? And I’d be like,  _ ha ha, if we ever broke up and did this neither of us would ever have to drink _ . But then we did break up.” 

Isak took in a deep breath.

“And yeah,” he said. “I think I got it, in the end.”

A beat of silence.

“That if we did that, we’d get pissed out of our minds, you mean?”

It was a joke, Isak knew, but he didn’t laugh. He couldn’t just brush this off. He had to explain, felt the need of it burning so brightly inside him he could hardly breathe.

The thing was, Isak didn’t know how to explain, barely even knew what he was trying to get at to begin with. The words of the script wrote themselves; he was just the vessel that held them, and let them go.

“It’s like this,” he said. “We spent over three years of our lives learning how to be together. I mean, do you ever think about the fact that in all that time we’d known each other before - before you left, we’d spent a month  _ not _ being together? Maybe two, if you want to argue semantics? Fuck, Even, that was the thing about it. I’d never been anything but honest with you. I didn’t know how to be any other way. We’d never  _ been _ any other way.”

(He needed to explain, or he wanted Even to understand. It was the same thing, in the end.)

“So in theory I knew that I could live without you. I mean, we’ve always been that way. It’s not like we’ve ever  _ needed _ each other to live. You’ve always been you, and I’ve always been me, and that’s just how it is. But knowing something and doing it are two different things. I guess I just didn’t realize how different it would be until we had to learn.”

Isak hazarded a glance toward Even, and felt the breath stick in his lungs. Even looked stricken, rapt; he was staring at Isak like he didn’t know how to look away.

“Say something,” Isak said, and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was something else that made his words sound like a plea.

Even blinked, slowly. Then rapidly.

“Can I…” His fingers brushed against Isak’s duvet in long, slow strokes.

And he didn’t have to finish the question. Isak already knew what he was asking.

He could think about his answer - should think about it.

In the end he didn’t.

In the end he shifted, rolling over on his side so that he fully faced Even.

In the end he watched as Even moved very slowly, very carefully; lifting each leg onto the mattress, scooting his body forward with his hands, lowering himself until his head hit Isak’s pillow.

And he turned his head toward Isak and he looked at him, gaze unwavering.

And this was it, wasn’t it? This was the closest Isak had let Even get to him in years.

(Strange that distance was something Isak had worried so much about since Even had gotten here. He’d so desperately wanted things not to be awkward between them, or at the least for there to be just the right amount of awkward.

Strange, because they were here now, the distance between them something he could never have planned for, and the weirdest thing about it was that Even still wasn’t touching him at all.)

“Can I tell you a story?” Even said.

Isak searched his eyes. His eyes, those eyes Isak knew better than his own. After all, hadn’t he spent more time looking into them than into a mirror? He knew what those eyes were capable of holding. In this moment, they held nothing.

(They were as clear as glass.)

“Yeah,” Isak said.

Even’s gaze flickered downward, then back up. 

“When I was packing for America, my friends told me I should leave behind the things that reminded me of you,” he said.

His voice was hushed, like he was telling a secret. Like this was the very first time he was telling a story like this.

“I guess that’s what you’re supposed to do after you break up with someone,” Even continued. “It’s unhealthy to hold onto the past, right? And I agreed, in the beginning. I made a big pile of things that used to belong to you. Gifts you gave me for my birthday, or something that’d caught your eye one day because it would be useful, or even just… just something you’d held, once, and smiled at.”

Even smiled wistfully.

“You know something?” he said. “It didn’t take long for me to realize pretty much everything I had reminded me of you.”

Isak swallowed, or tried to. It was hard when his mouth was so dry.

“Did you end up throwing it all away, then?” he asked, wanting to know the answer, dreading it all at once.

“Part of me wanted to,” Even said. “Part of me wanted to stop seeing you everywhere I looked. Because god, Isak, you really were fucking everywhere. You were in my clothes, my bedding, the movies I wanted to make, the stories I wanted to tell. You were in the back of my head. You were always there.”

The small, rueful smile on his lips turned into something more honest. Something gentle, something impossibly sweet.

“But then there was another part of me,” he said. “Do you want to know what it said?”

“What?” The word trembled itself out of his ribcage.

And Even didn’t look away, which made his heart tremble harder.

“It knew that if I was patient, one day I would look at the things we once owned, and the life we once shared,” Even said softly. “And I would know that ours was a story still worth telling.”

There was a certain prickling heat behind Isak’s eyes, the kind that almost hurt; but no matter what he did, no matter how many times he blinked, it just wouldn’t go away. He swallowed past the thick lump in his throat as the world began to blur.

“Do you think it was a mistake to come here, Even?” he whispered.

“To Oslo?” Even said back, just as quietly.

“No,” Isak said. “Here.”

He felt something brush against the back of his hand. He looked down at the space between them. Blinked hard, let the world come into focus again. Even’s fingertips were pressed against his knuckles.

He blinked again. What he saw did not change.

(This was not a dream.)

And once he knew that, it was frighteningly easy to let things fall into place.

(To let himself want things to fall into place.)

He turned his hand so that his palm faced the ceiling.

And Even took it.

“Never,” he said, eyes glistening in the dim light.

It was one word. Just one word. But inside this particular moment, this fragile sliver of time where small words meant something big and so did holding the hand of a man he’d first loved nearly ten years ago, it was something he didn’t want to let go of.

So he didn’t.

He held on.

And right now, that meant something too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note that there is a reference in here to the series “Truth or Drink” by the Youtube channel Cut [relevant video [here](https://youtu.be/mVFDdDLa3SQ)]. I super don’t think it’s necessary to watch to get that part of the fic lol but if for some reason you do decide to watch it be prepared for massive secondhand embarrassment.
> 
> God willing, the last part of this fic will be posted on Friday. Keep your fingers crossed for me, y’all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You really do look good,” Even said, voice rough with honesty. “Fuck, Isak. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
> 
> Something in his voice, something small and forlorn, caught at a corner of Isak’s heart, and pulled, and tore. He felt the heaviness of what Even said as if it was his own. As if Even had looked inside his head and plucked the words right out of him, taken hold of the thread of himself and pulled it out so that bit by bit, Isak would unravel in his hands, and the entire world could finally see what it was the core of him was made of.
> 
> (And he would be glad for it.
> 
> He would be glad for it, because if he had to fall apart, at least he wouldn’t have to do it alone.)

_III._

In the morning, there was emptiness in Isak’s bed and silence in the house. The former wasn’t that surprising, the latter maybe a little more so. The most surprising thing was honestly that he’d woken up with a clear head. It would have been more than a little pathetic to have a hangover after a bit of wine, so he supposed he should be grateful to his body for not rioting against him this time around.

He must have turned his alarm clock off at some point, because it was a little past eight now. A late morning for him, these days. His teenage self’s head would probably explode.

There was something wonderfully indulgent about taking your time to get ready on a Friday morning, so he did. He gave himself an extra ten minutes in the shower, letting his aching muscles soak in the delicious warmth. He put the effort into finding a matching pair of socks, slowly did every button on his black shirt with steady fingers, folded his sleeves up to his elbows just because he could. He wasn’t one to care much about appearances, but admittedly he did feel a little more settled into his own skin now, a little more in control of himself in a way that didn’t usually happen with his normal routine of throwing himself together minutes before walking out the door.

It was still quiet in the rest of the flat when Isak stepped out of his room. He decided not to think too much of it, figured Even could probably use what rest he could get. He set about making breakfast instead: sticking bread into the toaster, cutting blocks of cheese into careful slices, gathering condiments to lay out on his bar. The rhythm he fell into calmed his head and his hands. This was something he could do, something that had to be done. At this point in his life he was pretty good at doing things that had to be done.

(In other words: surviving.)

He set everything out. Filled up Toto’s water and food. Cleaned up the small mess he’d made on the counters.

Still, no noise.

Isak frowned, checking the time on his phone. They needed to leave in about an hour. At this point, Even probably couldn’t afford to sleep much longer.

He walked to the guest bedroom and rapped his knuckles against the surface of the door. Once, twice, three times.

A few seconds of more baffling silence, and the door was wrenched open. A quick glance up and down told Isak that Even was nearly dressed, shirt buttoned up but untucked, belt slung over one arm. So at least he was up, even if his hair wasn’t done and he was only wearing one sock.

“Hey,” Isak said. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Even dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah, in a bit, I just - I can’t seem to find my tie?”

Behind Even, Isak could just glimpse an open bag on the bed, most of its contents spilling across the mattress.

Even followed Isak’s gaze, and let out a heavy sigh. “Fuck,” he said. “I think I forgot it in America.”

“That’s a little far,” Isak said mildly.

Even huffed out a laugh. “Maybe I should learn how to teleport. I might make it in time for the funeral if I somehow manage to defy all the laws of physics.”

“Or you could just borrow one of mine,” Isak said.

Even’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure?”

Isak shrugged. It was just a tie. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “Don’t stress. You’ve got plenty of other things to worry about. You know, like not being late.”

Even scratched at his temple as his expression relaxed into a weary smile.

(Had he not gotten enough sleep the night before? Isak couldn’t stop himself from wondering.)

“Thanks, Isak,” he said quietly. Jesus, the way he said those words you’d almost think Isak had just offered him the clothes off his own back, not something he had at least a dozen more of.

“I’ll have it for you in the kitchen,” Isak said. “Just - come eat breakfast, okay?”

Even rubbed at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

-

Fifteen minutes later, as Isak poured coffee from the espresso machine into two ceramic mugs, a small commotion behind him caught his attention. Isak turned toward Even just as he paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his thumbs stuck in his pockets. For the first time since he’d arrived in Oslo he looked uncertain with himself. Not that he needed to be, Isak thought hazily as he took in the image in front of him. The neat fold of his collar, the sharpness his black jacket cuts against his shoulders, hair combed back in a way that would look effortless if Isak didn’t already know how much time Even really put into it. It took him a moment to realize he was staring, which he probably should have found embarrassing but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You clean up good,” Isak said, feeling only a little foolish for the words.

Even laughed, some of the tension dissipating from his shoulders. “Thanks,” he said. “You, too.”

The words were painfully sincere. He’d said them without hesitation, but Isak knew that he meant them, anyway.

He turned to the counter and picked up the tie he’d grabbed from his closet earlier. It was skinny and black, nothing extravagant but the most appropriate for the occasion Isak could find. “Here, let me…”

He faltered, words escaping him for a moment, then turned around and closed the distance between them. He draped the tie round Even’s neck swiftly before he could change his mind.

Even’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to - ”

“It’ll be quicker this way,” Isak said, steadfastly not looking away from Even’s neck. “I don’t trust your clumsy hands.”

Things were quiet for a moment, as Isak adjusted the length of the tie and tried to make quick work of it. It was taking a bit of effort to focus, annoyingly enough. Every so often his fingertips would skim against the warmth of Even’s neck and he’d have to concentrate not to flinch as if he’d been burned, which was a ridiculous gut reaction to have when objectively speaking he barely felt anything at all.

“Do you remember the first time you tried to do this for me?” Even’s voice was low, hint of a smile coloring the edges of his words. “It was our first New Year’s Eve together, I think. It took you at least three tries.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isak said, keeping his voice as level as he could. “I just remember doing a flawless job.”

He tightened the knot he’d made and folded the collar down around the tie. He could just feel the ridge of Even’s collarbone under the fabric of his shirt, before his hands dropped down to his sides.

Even brought a hand to his neck, running his fingers along the places Isak had touched moments before. “In the end,” he agreed. “And just now, too. You’ve really come a long way.”

Isak looked up, and his breath caught before he could quite stop himself, Even’s eyes ensnaring in their aching familiarity. They were close, closer than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t stepped back yet, though maybe he should have.

(Not that _should have_ were words that had ever meant much of anything, when it came to them.)

“So have you,” Isak said.

Even stared back at him, wordless. But Isak knew what he said and what he meant. He would not take it back.

From the look in Even’s eyes, he could tell Even knew it, too.

Even’s hand drifted up to Isak’s elbow, palm hovering at the bend of his arm. Isak blinked; fingertips brushing against his skin. He blinked again.

Nothing, now.

“You really do look good,” Even said, voice rough with honesty. “Fuck, Isak. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Something in his voice, something small and forlorn, caught at a corner of Isak’s heart, and pulled, and tore. He felt the heaviness of what Even said as if it was his own. As if Even had looked inside his head and plucked the words right out of him, taken hold of the thread of himself and pulled it out so that bit by bit, Isak would unravel in his hands, and the entire world could finally see what it was the core of him was made of.

(And he would be glad for it.

He would be glad for it, because if he had to fall apart, at least he wouldn’t have to do it alone.)

But it was goddamn terrifying to stand here in his own kitchen and realize he would let Even do that, that even after all of these years, all of this time between them, all this distance, all of the silence; after all of that, his trust in him was still there, and immutable, and complete. It was not something easily done, he knew. Not something easily given away, because to do so would be to expose the most buried, the most vulnerable, the most tender parts of your insides to someone outside your own head, and you could very easily lose a piece of yourself in the process.

(He knew that better than anyone.)

Then again, if it had to be anyone on the other side of this, it would be Even. There was no one else it could be. He knew that with a certainty that cut at him, deep and aching and true.

“Yeah,” Isak said finally. “But we’re still here.”

He felt the fragility of this moment like sand in his lungs. Brittle under his touch, as if any second now everything would crumble apart. He couldn’t do more than whisper. Was physically incapable of it.

Even swallowed. “That won’t be true tomorrow,” he said.

So Isak hadn’t been the only one thinking it.

(It was a terrible thing to be grateful for, but still. He was.)

“It’s like you said last night,” Isak said. “Isn’t it? You were still meant to be here.”

He didn’t quite know what compelled him to say it. It felt so big, somehow. Words that were almost forbidden. It felt like an assumption he shouldn’t make, a truth he shouldn’t give.

Even if it was just for a few seconds, though, he felt brave.

(Maybe he had no right to.

Maybe he just didn’t care anymore.)

Even’s eyes went wide, for a moment, before his expression softened. “Of course that’s how you’d see it,” he said, smiling faintly.

“What do you mean?”

“You and your parallel universes,” Even said. “You and _destiny_.”

He said it reverently, as if the words didn’t belong to him.

(But of course, the universes belonged to everyone.)

“Destiny is overrated,” Isak said. “I believe in something else now.”

Even’s smile grew, just a little. “And what’s that?”

( _You_ , Isak almost said, the taste of the word sweet like honey in the back of his mouth; but it would have been a lie, because that was something Isak had believed in all along.)

He blinked.

(The almost of the moment dissolved like a sugar cube on his tongue.)

“I believe in the present,” he said lightly. “I believe in the _now_.”

He felt it as soon as the words left him. Felt the way the fragility of the air between them twisted, and fractured. Like shards of a fallen mirror.

Even’s hand fell down to his side, and his head tilted as he laughed. And Isak took the opportunity to step back, and suddenly the moment - whatever it had been - was gone.

“God,” Even said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re a walking cliche.”

Isak grinned, even as it pulled at the tightness in his chest that didn’t seem to want to go away. “Said the pot to the kettle,” he said.

Even pushed at Isak’s shoulder, enough so that he stumbled backward a little. It was such a boyish gesture, pulled right out of the old days, their younger years. Isak’s ribs hurt.

“Fucking rude,” Even said. He didn’t mean it, though. Isak knew.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat, already. We don’t want to be late for the funeral.”

“Right,” Even sighed. “The funeral.”

He scratched the back of his neck and smiled, lazy and unhurried.

(Beautiful in that easy way of his.)

And Isak didn’t reach out to touch that smile, because that would be a ludicrous thing to do. But for a moment - just one - it almost felt like he could.

-

After they finished breakfast, they walked down to Isak’s car. The location of the funeral was a little over half an hour away, so Isak settled in for the journey. He fiddled with the heat and the volume on the stereo until things were more or less acceptable, and he leaned back in his seat, and breathed.

The first several minutes of the drive they spent in silence. Isak had offered to let Even play his own music, but Even declined, so Isak put on the radio instead, letting a song he didn’t care about play softly in the background. He glanced over at Even occasionally, not quite able to help himself. But there wasn’t much to see. He had his face turned to the window, chin resting on one hand, fingers of the other hand tapping frenetically against his thigh in a tempo that didn’t match the song at all. Which probably meant he wasn’t listening to it.

“Hey,” Isak said. “How are you feeling?”

A slight shift in the rhythm of the beat he tapped against his leg was the only initial sign that Even heard him. He kept his silence for a bit, then hummed tunelessly. “Weird,” he said.

“Weird in a bad way?” Isak asked tentatively.

“Just - weird.”

Isak drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “You don’t - ” He hesitated. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Even twisted in his seat and smiled in a manner that was probably meant to be reassuring. “It’s not that,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

Isak frowned. “Thinking about what?”

“About - well, about death, I guess.”

“I mean,” Isak said. “I guess that makes sense.”

Even laughed briefly. “It’s just weird,” he said. “You remember when you were in your second year of uni? And you started complaining about how when you scrolled through your Facebook feed there was always someone getting engaged, or married, or having a baby.”

“Right,” Isak said slowly. “I remember that, kind of. What does that have to do with death, though?”

“Well, do you remember what you said about it?” Even chewed at his lip. “You said all these people were way too fucking young for that kind of thing, this thing that should feel so foreign and far away. But because it’s happening to them, it’s not far away anymore. And that was the weirdest part to you.”

Even kept his eyes forward, on the road ahead of them or maybe on nothing at all.

“The same thing kind of applies to death too, doesn’t it?” he said quietly. “It feels weird when it happens to someone that you know. It feels like it should be so far away. But suddenly it’s not.”

There was a sudden tightness in Isak’s throat. He swallowed it down.

“It makes sense, though,” he said. “You’re right. We’re still young.”

Even let out a strange laugh. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve stopped feeling weird about it. I don’t think I’m ever going to stop feeling weird about it. But the older we get, the less far away it actually is. Right? The more used to it we should be.”

He took in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly.

“It’s stupid,” he said. “I know it is. But - we won’t be young forever. One day, death will start making sense. And honestly, Isak?”

It was only now that Even turned to look at Isak. Isak couldn’t look back. But he could feel it.

“Honestly,” Even said, “I’m fucking terrified of that day.”

(Isak felt that, too.)

He wished, with a sudden fervor that was savage and fierce and burning in his lungs, that he was not driving. That he could pull over on the side of the road, lean over and touch Even. An embrace, maybe, clinging and desperate in a way that matched all he could hear in Even’s words. Or a reassuring hand on Even’s leg or his shoulder, a warm touch that would ground him, tether the both of them to the surface of this cruel, cold planet. Or just a press of his fingertips to the back of Even’s hand, a soft touch, barely there but lingering. Something; anything. Anything would be better than this.

(This emptiness that stretched between them.)

He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t let himself lose it like that. He had to keep his eyes ahead and his hands to himself. He had to drive.

So instead he breathed in, breathed in so deeply he felt as if his ribs could crack. And he breathed out.

“I…” Isak swiped his tongue over his lower lip. “I think I get it, though.”

“You do?” Even said. Isak could feel Even glance at him.

“This isn’t really the same thing,” Isak said. “It’s not the same thing at all, actually. But… You know when we first broke up?”

“Isak,” Even said.

“Ha,” Isak said, though he didn’t feel like laughing. “Stupid question, I guess. But the reason I bring it up is, one of the things I told my therapist was that I - ”

He broke off, hesitating. The hush in his voice was painful even in his own ears. They’d said some hard things to each other these past few days, things Isak never in a thousand years would have thought he’d get to say or hear. It should be easier, by that logic, to say these difficult things, these words no one else had heard before except perhaps in the safety of his therapist’s office.

(It wasn’t.)

And yet - it was harder _not_ to say it. It was harder to conceive of a future in which he’d had this chance to say the things he’d kept inside himself for years, to be honest in a way he really couldn’t be with anyone else, and ended up losing it. More than that - to know that he’d purposefully let it go.

(After all they’d been through and all they’d done, after how far they’d come, they could afford to go just a little farther.)

“I told her I didn’t want to stop feeling sad about it,” he confessed quietly. “I was actually kind of dreading the day it would stop feeling so bad.”

The light in front of them turned red. Isak slowed the car to a stop.

“I know it sounds kind of fucked up out loud,” Isak said. “So I thought she would tell me I shouldn’t think like that. That it was so counterproductive to everything we’d been working on. But she didn’t. You want to know what she said?”

A long pause. “What did she say?”

“She said it made sense,” Isak said. “I was in mourning, she’d said. Like, what I was experiencing wasn’t a depressive episode, necessarily, but an episode of grief. And at first I thought she was being ridiculous. I mean, it’s not like anyone fucking died. But… I think I understood, after a while.”

“Understood what?” Even’s voice was little more than a whisper.

Isak looked over at him.

“No one died,” he said, “but I did lose you.”

Now, this - this actually did feel good to say. Not in the sense that it didn’t hurt, or that it was easy. The words fought themselves out of his throat every step of the fucking way, kicking against his lungs, his very insides. He couldn’t change the hoarseness in his voice, the cracks of it. Couldn’t change the way this simple truth came out of him like he bled it.

But it was a relief - immense, crushing, almost dizzying. He’d spent years kicking this feeling back down into the darkest pits of his heart, spent years trying to move on, move past it, be a better and a different person. And he was different, and he had changed, they both had. And he wasn’t the kind of person who let a feeling like this hold him back from the things he wanted - a nice apartment, a job he liked, a comfortable life. And he hadn’t.

Still, he _felt_ it. There was no denying it, anymore. There was no denying just how immense it was. If he was a different person, if everything in his life had changed, it was because of this. Because of them. Of what they’d had, and what they’d lost. It always came back to that, one way or another.

And he wasn’t ashamed of it. That was the most incredible part.

(He did not feel ashamed to tell Even that watching him leave Oslo was the hardest fucking thing he had ever had to do.)

In the midst of it all, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Even. Even, with his wide, wide eyes and his pale face like Isak had struck him with a hammer. The music playing on the radio was quiet enough that Isak could pinpoint the exact moment Even stopped breathing.

He felt it. Isak could see it in his naked eyes. He felt it as Isak did. The truth of it ringing in his bones.

Out of the corner of his eye, Isak saw the traffic light turn green. He squeezed the steering wheel tightly and turned his attention back to the road, though it was honest to god the last fucking thing he wanted to do.

(He had to, was the thing; he had to.)

“What did your therapist say about that?” Even said.

“She said…” Isak willed his voice to steady, even as he knew that it wouldn’t. “That it was okay to be sad. To feel the loss of you as keenly as I did. That it was completely natural, actually. That it would be weird not to to feel like that.”

(Like someone had torn a hole that had no bottom inside him.)

“But…” It was getting harder and harder to speak. “But moving on didn’t mean that loss didn’t matter anymore. It just meant…”

He paused, an attempt to collect himself. It was a little incredible, all things considered. Despite the way his breath stumbled over itself, despite the fact that all the feelings and the words inside him were whirling together so violently it was a struggle just to know what they were let alone know how to say them, he could feel the power of this moment igniting inside him. How the act of saying a thing he’d never said before morphed it into a thing he could hold in his bare hands. A thing he could actually bear to touch.

“It meant that I could see the bigger picture,” Isak said. “All the good, along with all the bad. All the times I was happy. Not just the times it hurt.”

He looked down at his shaking hands, still clinging onto the wheel.

“I guess that’s all I’m trying to say,” Isak said. “All the pain, all the fear, all the sadness - if all of it is that big, that just shows how important it is.”

(How important Even was.)

“So you can be afraid,” Isak said. “But you can make your peace with it. I know you can. Because I did.”

The silence between them stretched as far as the road ahead of them.

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Even said finally.

Isak squeezed the steering wheel. “What?”

“I mean, you say that,” Even said, “and it’s like you don’t even realize how incredible you are.”

Isak looked over at him at that, stricken. But Even met his gaze.

“You are,” Even said. “You’re - fuck, Isak. You’re everything.”

It was Isak’s turn, then, to forget how to breathe. To feel the ground crumble under his feet, everything cracking apart and the space around him swallowing him whole. He felt, for a dizzying moment, as if all he knew how to do was to fall.

(As if he would never remember anything else.)

He couldn’t keep looking at Even, couldn’t focus on anything but the road. He tore his attention away, felt an almost physical pain in his chest when he did. He blinked furiously so that it would disappear. Blinked so that he would return to this universe and rid his head of all the other ones. Blinked so that he would return to himself.

Blinking, for once, changed nothing.

And for once he found that devastating.

“I…” Even‘s voice shook. “Sorry. Are we almost there?”

It was a wonder he hadn’t driven them off the road into a tree yet. Isak took in an unsteady breath, and glanced down at the GPS on his phone.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Even nodded, bending over and exhaling roughly.

Isak couldn’t help but be concerned, despite the rest of it, despite everything. “Nervous to go in?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I could… I mean, I did dress for the occasion, just in case. But I can always fuck off. If you want me to.”

“No,” Even said. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“No?” Isak said weakly. The word barely felt real on his tongue.

“No,” Even repeated. On this, at least, he sounded resolute. “I want you there with me. That’s what I want.”

“Oh,” Isak exhaled. “Okay.”

(Honestly -

Honestly, it was what he wanted, too.)

-

After the morning passed, Isak would mostly remember it as a hazy sort of melancholy, more of a feeling than an actual memory. Murmured condolences, and shaken hands, and a blur of faces that he would never see again; long speeches about a person he’d never met in life; a sea of black, and red flowers dotted against the monochrome.

And then, certain flashes of clarity among the static:

A bottle of water being pressed into his hand, cool in his palm, crisp on his tongue.

Even embracing someone he’d known from decades past, stooping down so that their cheeks brushed.

The faint smell of flower petals, a lingering sign of life amidst the stark reminder of death.

Even declining a chair so that someone else’s grandmother could sit instead, tucking a hand into his pocket and crooking his knee as he bent his head and the sunlight behind him set his profile in sharp relief.

The dull shine of the closed casket’s lid in the late morning light.

Even’s hand sliding easily into Isak’s as the closing remarks began, dry and warm palm an anchor against his.

(The feeling, heady and overwhelming and unearthed from a past life, of not letting go.)

In the end, the morning passed quickly, and he was not sorry when it was over.

-

He could tell the ceremony had worn Even out. Because of the people they had met, or the long speeches, or the sadness - it hardly mattered why. All of it, probably, and more. The family of the deceased had invited them to a reception at their house, but Isak had a nagging suspicion from the sag in Even’s shoulders and the shuffling of his feet that it was not an invitation they would accept.

“Do you want to go home?” Isak said.

Even nodded wordlessly. He kept his eyes on the ground, one hand in his pocket and the other in Isak’s. His grip around Isak’s fingers was loose.

They could easily pull away, at this point. A quick silent tug and that would be the end of it.

“Do you want to grab some lunch before then?” Isak offered. He turned his head to the side, measuring Even’s reaction.

Even rubbed at his eye with his free hand. “I don’t know if I can deal with people right now,” he said.

“That’s okay,” Isak said. “I can pick up some takeout or something.”

“Whatever works.”

How laughably easy it was to fall into this routine of mundanity, as if small talk had ever been their forte and each inane sentence they uttered didn’t carry the weight of a thousand unspoken words behind it. As if it was easy for them to be casual.

(And fuck, who knew? At this point, maybe it was.)

They walked in silence until they reached the car. Now they let go out of necessity. Objectively speaking, it hadn’t been that long at all, and yet Isak’s fingers already felt strangely empty without the weight of Even’s hand to ground them. He flexed his hand and unlocked the car.

They climbed in, and drove home.

-

Even was mostly silent until they arrived at the apartment with bags of food in hand, and then all of a sudden he lost the tension in his shoulders, the heaviness in his steps. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the couch, undid the top few buttons of his shirt, pulled his tie off to sling it around his neck. He wasn’t hungry, he told Isak as he set his bags in the kitchen, but maybe he would be later. Toto padded into the kitchen, and Even stooped down to scoop her up and cradle her to his body. He’d probably get cat hair all over him, but he didn’t seem to give a shit as he walked out the kitchen with her in tow.

Isak stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen for a long moment. He felt as if he should be swaying, somehow, though objectively he knew that he wasn’t. It was this feeling of being a little off-balance - a bit unmoored. Like he could float away at any moment, lose his grip on the present, if he only opened the window and let the breeze in.

He blinked, willing the ground to steady under him. It didn’t.

He turned and walked into the living room. And stopped in his tracks.

Even sat on the couch, long legs sticking out in front of him and Toto purring in his lap as he stroked her back in languid motions. He didn’t look up when Isak entered the room, but he smiled. Isak saw it as it happened, the warmth that softened his eyes and his mouth in a way that split Isak’s heart cleanly in two.

“Have I mentioned how much I love your cat?” Even said. “God. I’d die for her.”

Something swelled in Isak’s throat, inexplicably but irreversibly, something that burned and ached.

The awful thing was, it wasn’t like this was anything big. Fuck, it was the smallest thing. This calm, quiet affection toward his cat that Even had shown her from the very first day. Yet it was this that ripped through everything.

For a breathless moment it was like Isak was seeing it through a screen. Even stretched out on his couch, cat bundled up in his arms like she’d never felt safer anywhere else. Signs of him scattered across the room. His jacket on the arm of the couch. A book he’d left face-down on the coffee table. Shoes neatly by the front door, edges of their soles touching Isak’s sneakers. Small clutter that had arisen after just a few days and yet fit in so effortlessly, so goddamn perfectly in the spaces of Isak’s life.

He might have imagined this scene five years ago. Five years ago when they were young and desperately in love and he still believed with his whole heart in the future, he might have closed his eyes and seen something like this. An Even who was five years older with a soft, kind light in his eyes and a cat in his arms. An Even inside his home, inside a place they’d built together, where he had always been and was always meant to be.

But it was wrong now, it was all fucking wrong. It wasn’t a future. It wasn’t anything permanent. Even wasn’t filling in the spaces of his life like this.

(He was tearing them wide apart.)

Even looked up at him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t laughing, either. Isak gasped when their eyes met. Gasped at the sadness they held, so deep and so profound Isak could see how it reached all the way inside of him, rooted in the things they’d done and the things they’d said and endless, endless time that stretched before them to a point neither of them could see. It was the kind of sadness that etched itself everywhere, lived and breathed through everything so that it was practically undefinable, because it was no longer a singular feeling; it was all of them.

(It was the same sadness that had lived inside his bones this whole damn time.)

Even opened his mouth, maybe to say something.

Isak, though, couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t.

He walked across the room. Flung the balcony door open.

Let it swing shut behind him.

-

Isak didn’t bother to count the seconds or the minutes. Did it even matter at this point?

The door clicked opened. Which was inevitable, wasn’t it? If Isak left, Even never failed to chase after him.

(But if Even left, Isak wasn’t allowed to follow.

That had to be inevitable, too.)

The back of Isak’s neck prickled as Even approached. “Isak,” he said. A single word that hung starkly in the air.

Isak squeezed his fists tightly around the bannister. Almost wanted to squeeze his eyes shut too.

“Fucking hell, Even,” he said. “What are we doing?”

He twisted his head to the side, just in time to catch the stricken look in Even’s eyes. “What?”

“You know what I mean,” Isak said.

Even looked away.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Isak said. Something crawled up his throat at the words, something he hadn’t meant to let out from his heart but that had managed to escape anyway. An edge of desperation that turned his words into an appeal for mercy.

Even closed his eyes, and breathed out slowly.

“I should tell you something,” he said.

The pit of Isak’s stomach turned to shards of broken ice.

“And what’s that?” he said, struggling against the sudden, unspeakable panic that clawed at his lungs.

Even drummed his fingers against the bannister for a few beats before he spoke.

“A few months ago I started applying for jobs in Oslo.”

_Oslo._ The word echoed in the emptiness inside of him, endless, deafening.

(He’d never said a goddamn thing.)

“It was just a whim, you know,” Even said, words coming out of him in a rush as if he was trying to justify it to himself. “A stupid fantasy. I think I was getting a little burned out at work, a little tired of everything. I was just thinking of different lives, different worlds. Just imagining how things could be. Harmless bullshit.”

Even opened his eyes and turned them to Isak.

“Except,” he said shakily, “I actually got a few offers back.”

(Panic did not begin to describe the feelings inside Isak’s chest.)

“Really?” The word fell from his lips involuntarily.

Even nodded.

“That’s - ” Isak dragged a hand through his hair, reeling. The dull pain on his scalp was meant to be a reminder that this was somehow real, that somehow words that had long ago become nothing more than an impossibility had just been said, but it didn’t seem to help. “Holy fuck, Even.”

Even smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“Are you…” Isak took in a ragged breath. “Are you going to take any of them?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Maybe it was the tilt of Even’s head. The wistfulness in his eyes. The mere fact that two nights ago they’d been standing here with just the same amount of distance between them, between their bodies and their words. An image of a fraying string flashed before his eyes, and just like that, he understood.

(He could feel the string inside him fraying, too.)

“What do you think I should do?” Even said.

Isak fought for logic. Grasped for the right words to say. But there were no words in his head or his heart or anywhere else. How could he choose the right ones if he had none of them to begin with?

“I don’t know,” Isak said. “I don’t know what you should do. I didn’t know five years ago.”

“Five years ago,” Even echoed softly. “Do you regret it?”

Fuck, he couldn’t do this now. He had not prepared an answer for that question, not once, not ever. He’d thought about it endlessly; in the early days it sometimes felt like he was hardly capable of thinking of anything else.

But in the end, it hadn’t made a difference. It never amounted to anything coherent inside his head. Just infinite circles of nothing.

(What did Even mean, anyway, when he asked it? What did he suppose Isak regretted? The choice they made together? The way they made it, the reasons they made it? The years between them?

Did Isak regret any of it?

All of it?

None of it?)

“I don’t know, Even,” Isak said again. He could hear it twisting in his ears, the wreckage of his own voice. Ruined by the force of his own honesty. “I mean, Jesus. The thing about it was, I was twenty one years old and completely lost inside my own head and I’d always thought love was enough and then we learned that it wasn’t.”

He bent his head over, clutching the hair at his temples.

“But I have to ask,” he said. “Why not? Why can’t love be enough?”

He turned to Even, face still half buried in his hands, and he could hardly stand it, could hardly stand the very sight of him; but he didn’t look away. Not from the paleness of his mouth, not from his slack jaw and the silent shock in his eyes. He forced himself not to.

“You know I would have fought for you,” Isak said hoarsely. “I know you know that. I would have fought for you until the end of fucking time, unless you didn’t want me to. Why didn’t you want me to?”

Even opened his mouth; closed it.

“You know why,” he said in a harsh whisper.

Isak let out a disbelieving laugh. “Sure, I know why,” he said. “I know how hard things were going to be for us after you decided you had to go chase the unknown future in the States and I decided I had to stay because - shit, pick your fucking poison. A degree I had to finish. A city that gave me the stability school couldn’t.” Isak sucked in a breath. “A mother I couldn’t abandon.”

He raked his hands through his hair.

“And yeah, I know how hard long distance is,” he said. “How much harder it becomes when there’s no clear ending to it. I know that things were so muddy back then for us, that neither of us knew where the fuck we were going. I know how hard it is to maintain something like what we had when we still had our whole damn lives to figure out.”

He felt light-headed, for a strange, swooping moment. As if the words came from someone else, as if they were happening on someone else’s balcony. He felt again as if he should be swaying on his feet.

“I know,” Isak continued, because there was no stopping now, not even if he wanted to, “I know that even deeper than that, you didn’t want to ask me to give up my life for you, even though you knew I would have, even though you knew you didn’t have to ask. It’s classic Even reasoning. That particular brand of stupid self sacrifice I fell in love with in the first place.”

The sudden desire to spill five years’ worth of unanswered questions into the world pulled at every inch of him. Itched and nagged and overwhelmed.

In the end, though, there was only one question that mattered.

(One word.)

“Why?”

Isak let it drop from his tongue like a stone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Even flinch. Saw his hands reach out, saw them drop back down to his sides. When he spoke, his entire body was still.

“I saw it.”

Everything inside Isak ground to a stop.

“What?” he managed to choke out.

“I saw it,” Even repeated. “Like an old ribbon stretching out before me.”

“You saw it,” Isak said hollowly.

Even swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said. “I could see every fold, every tear, every loop and curl. I could trace it right now in the air if I wanted, just like this.”

His hand floated through the air, fingers following a pattern Isak couldn’t see.

“And at the end of it, there you were,” Even said. Isak glanced down, saw how his hand shook in the air. “The ghost of you. I could pass my fingers through you like so much smoke. Like the air itself.”

He clenched his hand into a trembling fist.

“It’s not that you were dead,” Even whispered. “It was more in your eyes. I could see how the unhappiness had emptied you, dried you out like a corn husk. God, Isak, I’ll never forget it. That’s not something you can forget.”

He’d never said a thing, Isak thought numbly. He’d never said a fucking thing.

But it made a terrible sort of sense, didn’t it? That the future would look like that to someone as young and unwise as them? He understood, understood it completely. Uncertainty, the kind that could carve a devastating emptiness into your life if left to its own devices, was never something he’d felt safe bargaining with.

(Not when it came to Even.)

Isak sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Did you know, then? That things would end that way?”

Even shook his head agitatedly. “There were other ribbons, other futures,” he said. “But in front of me it was all a tangled fucking mess, and I didn’t know what the right one was. I couldn’t risk it, Isak. It was too dangerous. And I know you couldn’t either.”

(Isak knew it, too.)

“God, Isak,” Even said, choking up. “It all looked the same, back then. It all looked the fucking same.”

He was visibly shaking, now, his entire body. So this was what Even had carried all these years. He had every right to do it on his own, even if Isak ached to know that this is what had been there this whole time, in the silence between their words, the spaces between their fingertips. Isak had known it too, not in such concrete terms but in a way he didn’t quite have words for.

Yet though Isak could not blame Even for it, it was heartbreakingly obvious that this was a truth that had taken its toll on Even. The doubts, the guilt, the sadness. None of it was unrecognizable to Isak, all of it was as familiar to him as his own face in the mirror, and that’s what hurt so badly. Even had the right to carry this burden by himself; back then, he’d felt like he had to.

But he didn’t have to.

Not anymore.

And once Isak recognized that, there was nothing else he could do. His arms moved of their own accord, his torso pulled forward as if with the force of gravity itself; and he wrapped himself around Even, one fist clutching at the fabric below his shoulder blades and the other sliding into his hair. And Even’s face buried itself in the crook of Isak’s shoulder. And they fell together as if they’d never known how to do anything else.

(It _was_ easy, after all this time.

It was.)

“What about now?” Isak whispered into Even’s ear. “Does it all look the same now?”

“I don’t know,” Even said into his neck. “That’s why I have to ask you. I can’t see anything anymore.”

How often did that happen to people, having a vision of a different universe so powerful and potent that you’d never see anything else again? Isak had never experienced anything like that, had only ever seen things in brief blinks.

(And still it made his head fucking spin.)

Isak stroked a thumb through the hair at the nape of Even’s neck. “Ask me what?”

“Did we make the wrong choice?” Even said, a shudder ripping through the words. “If I come back to Oslo - do the last five years mean nothing? I can’t stand that thought, Isak. That we suffered in silence for that long, when I could have been here this whole time.”

Isak’s hands slid to Even’s face, cupped his cheeks so he could tilt his head back and look him right in the eyes. His thumbs brushed against the stubble of his jawline, and god, it was just incredible, wasn’t it, how fucking good it felt to hold him like this after years of being denied the opportunity? To lean his face in so close he could feel the pace of Even’s breath against his skin, to witness everything his eyes could hold, to soak it all in like a damn sponge.

(Not just good; _right_.)

“Does it matter?” Isak said. “You’re here now.”

Maybe it was simple. Maybe it was _too_ easy. But he meant it. What did five years matter, in the face of a lifetime of misery? What did a choice they’d made when they were young and stupid and knew absolutely nothing matter, compared to the choice they could make today?

What did any of the goddamn silence matter when they’d broken it this many times?

Even choked out a laugh. “I swear to god, _now_ is your favorite word.”

“It’s not,” Isak said.

“So what is it?” Even’s eyes glistened in the daylight.

Carefully, so carefully Isak could hardly believe he was doing it at all, he leaned in, and touched their foreheads together. Closed his eyes, stroked his thumbs across Even’s face. Brushed his lips over Even’s mouth. It was the gentlest thing he’d ever done.

“I love you, Even,” Isak said, the words coming out of him as easy as a breath.

And Even tilted his face to catch Isak’s mouth again, and Isak let him.

It was like learning a second language on the tip of someone else’s tongue, kissing Even Bech Næsheim. Giving yourself a different name, carving it on the walls of your ribcage. Tasting the newly fallen rain and swallowing it whole. Like coming back home after a long winter away. Like being born again.

They broke apart slowly. Isak opened his eyes just a crack, and his heart caught in his throat at the sight of him. The translucent purple skin beneath his eyes; the tiny scar on his cheek; the tenderness that lived in the corner of his mouth. The beauty of Even and the truth of him, in all its flawed, resplendent glory.

“That’s four words,” Even said. His eyes were still closed.

“I couldn’t give less of a fuck,” Isak said, breathlessly dizzy, halfway unraveled. “You knew it this whole time, didn’t you?”

“I hoped,” Even confessed. “I’d never dare assume.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Isak said, a hopeless sort of fondness bursting in his chest, burning against his ribs. “But it never changed for you, did it?”

“No,” Even murmured. “It didn’t.”

Isak traced the pad of his thumb across the edge of Even’s cheekbone. Held his breath as Even let his eyes flutter closed and leaned into the touch.

“I still would have fought for you,” Isak told him. It was a thing he had to say. A compulsion as powerful as breathing air into his lungs.

“Really?” Even turned his head so that the word imprinted itself on Isak’s palm.

“It would have been worth it,” Isak said.

“You don’t mean that,” Even said, a hushed sort of awe laid bare in his voice.

“You goddamn idiot,” Isak said fiercely, helplessly. “Of course I do.”

Even reached up with a hand, wrapped his fingers around Isak’s wrist. Pressed his thumb gently to his pulse. Isak’s heart jumped in his throat.

“I would,” Isak said. “I still would.”

Even’s breath hitched. “Say it again.”

“I’d fight for you every day of my life,” Isak said, raw, honest. “I’d fight for you as long as you wanted me to.”

Even opened his eyes. “I want you to.”

“So let me,” Isak said. “Please, Even. Come home.”

Even didn’t speak. For a drawn out moment fear seized at Isak’s lungs, a fear that he might shake his head or even utter his refusal out loud.

The moment passed. Even tilted his head forward and kissed Isak once more, unhurried in a way that made Isak want to crack open and fall apart slowly, right then and there.

“Okay,” Even whispered against his mouth.

“Okay?” Isak whispered back. Hope trembled like a newborn bird in the cage of his bones.

“Okay,” Even echoed. He smiled, the taste of it as pure as the sun itself. Isak waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, tilting his forehead against Isak’s, breath warm and steady as if all he wanted to do now was take this all in. As if it was as easy as that.

But maybe it was.

(Hadn’t it been easy this whole time?)

A sort of peace settled over him. It was inevitability, but not in a way that implied a lack of choice, a helplessness at the whim of the cosmos. It was more like gravity, like an invisible force that pulled at you silently but ceaselessly, that never went away even if you thought you’d forgotten it existed. It was an inevitability that came from loving, and losing, and loving again. Because things could change, and indeed they had. Isak was a different person from when they’d first met, and so was Even. Somewhere along the way, somehow, they’d grown up. But that was not a bad thing.

It was not a bad thing for them to come back together, either. The ribbon that connected their hearts was long and tangled and complex. Still, it held true. It was real. The realest thing he’d ever touched.

And maybe Isak didn’t see it. Maybe Even couldn’t see it, either. But he could feel it all around them.

(Maybe there had been no other answer, all along.)

“Okay,” Isak said again, stroking at the hair behind Even’s ear with the backs of his knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

Even’s eyes were so bright Isak almost thought he could get drunk on it. “Am I allowed to say that I’m happy?”

Isak laughed, the feeling of it impossibly light in his chest. “You’re allowed to say whatever the fuck you want,” he said.

Even pressed their foreheads even closer together. Reached up with one hand, brushed his fingertips against the line of Isak’s jaw. His touch was as soft as the wind. Careful, so heartbreakingly careful. They had the time to be now.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “God, I missed you.”

Barely a whisper, those words, but Isak felt the impact of them as if Even had screamed them from the rooftops. Felt the power of them pouring into his veins, the core of his gut, down to his very toes. Words carved from his own ribcage. He could never have said them out loud. Now he didn’t have to.

“I know,” Isak said. He let himself smile, let his muscles stretch as wide as they would go. He smiled until it wasn’t even a matter of letting himself; it was just the natural thing to do. Just like the rest of it.

And he slid a hand to the back of Even’s neck, pulling him in closer, closer, always closer.

And this time, he kept his eyes wide open.

-

After -

(After they’d tossed their empty take-out boxes into the bin;

After Even set Toto down in her favorite spot on the couch;

After Isak closed the bedroom door behind them;

And everything that came after that, tender and warm and incandescently beautiful;

For them, only for them - )

There was a whisper:

“You’ll wait for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

And yet, the answer, five years in the making:

“Always.”

Today, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So I have an announcement I think should be made: 
> 
> There’s a very large chance this will be my last fic for the SKAM fandom. Never say never, I suppose [lord fucking knows I never expected to write this fic in the first place lol] but… I put quite a lot into this fic, and it feels strangely satisfactory to have done so, so somehow it seems kind of fitting to leave things here? I’m not usually in the habit of writing such formal good byes when I decide to stop writing for fandoms, but after all that being in this fandom has done for me, it only feels right to try. 
> 
> That said - to everyone who has read my words, to everyone who has supported and encouraged me through my endeavors, to everyone who has made it to the end, I give you my deepest and most heartfelt thanks. I’ll never, ever forget the people I met in this fandom, the conversations I’ve had, any of it, really. I… don’t really have the words to express what I’m feeling writing this note, but just know that knowing all of you has touched me very deeply. To that, I can only say, once again - thank you.
> 
> You can keep in touch with me on [tumblr](http://canonicallyanxious.tumblr.com/), if you want. Or not, that’s okay too. This probably isn’t my last fic in general, just my last fic for SKAM. So I hope to see some of you in future fandoms, but if I don’t - it’s been real, y’all. Take care. <3


End file.
